Archer's Choice
by Mr. Pedant
Summary: A Mysterious American wizard who goes by the name of Archer appears in Surrey on Nov 1, 1980. Disapproving of Dumbledore's plan to leave Harry on the Dursley's front porch, Archer devises his own plan to nurture the savior of Wizarding Britain and kidnaps the young Mr. Potter.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, and various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended**

**Author's Note: This is my first attempt at fanfiction. Please review. Constructive criticism is optimal!**

Chapter 1

Brilliant fireworks lit the air over all of Britain as wizards and witches raised their drinks to the velvet night sky: Voldemort was dead, and Harry Potter, just a baby, had lived. Meanwhile, a tall old man in long robes strode away from a huge castle to the edge of the nearby forest. He raised his wand, but froze at the sound of a deep voice.

"Albus Dumbledore." The speaker was a broad shouldered man who appeared between two trees. He was dressed in black leather, and wore a cowl that almost completely covered his face, He walked forward until the two were mere inches apart.

Dumbledore sighed, looking unsurprised. "Hello, Archer. Have you run out of people to terrorize in America?"

"Hardly." Archer was undoubtedly grinning. "I just like to be where the excitement is."

"The war is over. Voldemort is dead, his Death Eaters beaten. There was a war and people died! Good Merlin, you call that excitement?" Albus was usually serene, but recent events had shattered his calm.

Archer turned to look at the fireworks over Hogsmeade as he replied. "I heard that James and Lily Potter are dead. What will you do with the boy? Tuck him away?"

"Harry will be sent to his closest relatives, where the Blood Ward will keep him safe until he is of age," the old man replied coldly.

"Why keep him safe when the war is over unless..." Archer's voice trailed off as he spun back around. "...Voldemort survived as well? In that case, train the boy! You told me there was a prophecy!"

"You are planting words in my mouth. There are Death Eaters still at large who would like nothing better than to kill him. Did Tom Riddle survive? I am uncertain. Now, I believe you've grated on my nerves enough for one night. Goodbye, Archer." Dumbledore disappeared with a crack.

Hours later, on a rooftop of Privet Drive, Archer watched as Dumbledore and McGonagall argued quietly until Hagrid arrived, tearfully giving Harry to Dumbledore to place on the porch of number four. One by one, they left.

Archer swung down from the roof and walked over to the child's basket. Looking inside, he saw Harry. Just a sleeping baby with a jagged scar on its forehead, but so pivotal to Britain's future. Archer took a deep breath. What was he doing? Could he really give Harry a better life than his own relatives?

Making up his mind, he knelt by the child and muttered "Geminio Maxima." He gasped as the magic left him, creating an identical baby Harry. Picking up the real one, he vanished.

**Around Seven Years later**

Harry Potter rolled out of his bed and ran downstairs. He was a tall, healthy looking boy with wild black hair, a cool lightning scar on his head, and vivid green eyes hidden under prescription glasses.

It was his eighth birthday. He found that Nellie and Nicholas were already awake in the kitchen, and greeted them sleepily. He knew they weren't his real father and mother. Apparently as a baby, he had somehow defeated some bad guy and his parents died.

Then he had been kidnapped, and for some reason had been taken to Devon and given to this couple to raise. It was very confusing, but he was fond of Nicholas and Nellie, for all their eccentricities, and they had raised him lovingly.

As his mind woke up, he drove all other thoughts away and focused on the blueberry muffins Nellie had promised for breakfast, and the four presents in the middle of the dining table. As he was shaking them to figure out what they were, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Harry shouted as he rushed to the front door. Maybe it was Ben, his schoolmate and best friend, though he hadn't expected him this early in the morning. As the door opened, he yelped as he found himself staring not at Ben's pudgy face but a pair of leather clad legs. Which were attached to a rather large, hooded figure.

"Happy Birthday, Harry! I'm Archer," the man rumbled. He threw back his hood and bent down to shake Harry's hand. Archer had short blond hair, a square jaw, and light blue eyes. His expressive mouth was currently giving Harry a wide smile.

"I'm the bloke that kidnapped you." He remarked cheerfully.

"Er..." Harry almost fell over, confused and slightly frightened. Archer had made that shocking statement in the most normal of tones.

"For your birthday, the first gift I'll give you, so to speak, is an explanation of who you are and why I kidnapped you." Oblivious to Harry's reaction, Archer led him into the kitchen as he continued talking. "My parents have already told you that you are a wizard, and partially described the wizarding world which you will eventually return to.

"Hi Mom, Dad!" He broke off to treat the couple to a roguish grin and an affectionate hug.

Nellie was old, with wispy white hair, brown eyes and a heart shaped face. Nicholas was small and spidery, but his bright hazel eyes betrayed the mind of a genius.

"It's been years between visits, Archie!" Nellie scolded him. "Why do you wear those leather clothes in the middle of summer!" She smacked his arm lightly, then drew him into a hug.

Nicholas, as usual, hardly spoke, but returned his son's embrace with a contented smile before returning to his breakfast.

"Sorry, Mum! I've been busy." Archer extricated himself and resumed speaking. "Harry, after Voldemort was killed, you were found alive, but your parents had died protecting you. Albus Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards alive, planned to take you to the Dursleys, the closest thing to family you have.

Normally no one would have had any problems with that, but the Dursleys are one of the nastier families of muggles out there. They hate magic and disliked your parents, whom they considered freaks for simply being part of a different world. They would have thought of you the same way. I don't think you would have been happy there."

"Then why would he send me there?" Harry blurted.

Archer grimaced. "Living with them would have protected you via a thing called a Blood Ward, which is a bit of ancient and powerful magic. The fact that Albus wanted you to be protected, not nurtured, confirmed my suspicion that when Voldemort fell, he did not completely die. If he didn't die, that means he will return. And I wanted you to be healthy, happy, and aware of your magic to better prepare you. I will also train you until it is time for you to enter Hogwarts and the rest of the wizarding world, soon after your eleventh birthday."

"But doesn't Du- Dumbledore know that I'm gone?" Harry asked.

"No," said Archer, grinning wickedly. He seemed to enjoy smiling. "That night I performed a rather complex version of the Geminio spell, which made an exact living copy of you, that would grow up, live and react exactly how you would have if you were in that awful situation. It has seriously hampered my magical strength, because it constantly requires energy to keep it going, but it's necessary. When you go off to Hogwarts I will end the spell, and hopefully nobody will be the wiser."

"So is Vol-de-mort actually alive?" Harry queried, wishing all these people had simpler names. Despite all the crazy things Archer had said, he felt like the man was trustworthy.

"We believe so." Nicholas spoke up, startling Harry. "For much of the past six years Archer has been searching for any signs of him. He has found whispers of a specter that haunts the land. Some say it possesses animals and turns them crazy before draining their life force and moving on. We're unsure how much of that is fact, but that could be him. Dumbledore also believed that Voldemort did not completely perish, and whatever may be said about the man, he is incredibly wise."

"If he's so incredibly wise, why didn't you let things happen how he wanted?" Harry was confused.

Archer smirked. "Well, I'm no idiot myself, and I also have this nasty ability to look into the future, though I never get to choose what I see. One day I had a vision of you being raised by the Dursleys, then Voldemort coming back, defeating the Ministry of Magic and killing muggles indiscriminately. So I decided to try and change the future."

Harry gaped. Archer seemed to have quite a knack for stating the grandiose. When he closed his mouth he remembered that he had one more question.

"Are you really their son?" He asked, wondering because they were serious people, and short, while he was tall, muscular, and jovial. They also looked very old, while he must only be in his thirties.

"We're not blood relations, nor am I adopted, but they are the closest things to parents I'll ever have." Archer looked tenderly at them. "You're a bright kid, Harry. Now go open those presents!"

OoOoO

**There's my first chapter. Short, but I know they're going to get longer. Once again, Please review! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the second chapter. Enjoy! **

Chapter 2

"Quickly, they're coming!" Harry tried to shut out Archer's whispering as he struggled to free his hands, while lying in the sweltering heat. They were tied by tough vines. He had tried to flex his wrists as he'd been tied, to loosen the vines a bit, but it hadn't worked so well. Their captors had trussed them up and thrown them in adjacent cages, about six feet in diameter.

Once the guard changed, Archer just wiggled a bit and the ropes practically fell off him. Harry had a harder time, but he pulled and squirmed enough that he finally freed his hands.

He could hear the guards approaching, yelling loudly, as he lunged toward Archer. When their hands met, Archer performed Side-Along Apparition just as a stunner spell flew toward them.

Harry's stomach lurched as the world revolved sickeningly before screeching to a halt. Retching a couple of times, he finally got his stomach under control. Apparition always made him nauseous.

He suddenly realized that he heard no movement beside him. Whirling around, he saw that Archer was slumped on the stone floor, unconscious but breathing. So the stunner had hit after all. It was lucky they hadn't Splinched or Apparated to China or something. Harry scowled as he realised he just had to wait, helpless, until Archer woke up naturally.

Looking around, he smiled as he recognized the huge circular room, filled with strange objects. It was lit only through the open trap door in the middle of the ceiling, as the lights were off. The trap door was reachable by a sturdy wooden step-ladder. They had made it to the basement of the Lighthouse.

The Lighthouse was Archer's current home, consisting of a tall stone tower and an adjoining building. Built on the western coastline of Scotland, it used to be a real lighthouse, but then more popular fishing areas were discovered, and it was abandoned as it was no longer needed. Years later Archer moved in, and cast various safety measurements on it, mainly in the form of wards.

When asked, he had told Harry that wards were a form of magical protection specifically used for properties. They were created through complex combinations of spells and Rune placements. When asked about Runes, Archer informed Harry there was a whole class on the subject at Hogwarts which could explain them infinitely better than he could.

The Lighthouse had many floors, mostly full of Archer's odds and ends, but there were also normal places you'd expect in a house, like bedrooms and a kitchen. At the very top of the tower were the three levels below the lantern room, which Archer had told him were off limits. The lantern room had glorious views of the wild sea on one side, and the Scottish Highland on the other.

After his eighth birthday, Archer had taken Harry there, and began to teach him wandless magic, among other things. "I'm starting you young," he had explained, "because children are naturally more sensitive to their magical core. But when given a wand, they are more than happy to wave it around for the rest of their lives, forgetting what it's like to feel magic. It's near impossible to teach them then."

Harry noticed Archer himself never carried a wand unless it was just for the appearance of it, on their occasional excursions out into the wizarding world, and he never wore robes, always preferring his leather garb or other, more muggle style, clothes. It was his opinion that wizarding technology (and fashion) had no reason to be stuck in the dark ages, so he continued to keep himself, and Harry, familiar with the latest muggle innovations.

Learning wandless magic was a slow process, but a deeply satisfying one. It had taken him a week of mental self-searching to find his magic and discover it wasn't in a specific part of him, it was everywhere. He could now perform many simple spells wandlessly with relative ease, but Rennervate, unfortunately for Archer, was still beyond him.

The three years he lived with Archer had beenpacked with adventure, because Archer was a self acclaimed 'restless spirit'. There were mornings Harry would be awoken and told, "Pack up. We're off!" And they would Apparate away to India, or California, or the Seychelles, or practically anywhere, if Archer had been aiming darts at his World Map the previous night.

They would spend anywhere from a week to two months at their new location. Harry met countless new people(Muggles and Wizards alike), learned some words in new languages(like Spanish or Gobbledegook), and learned new things, like which Quidditch teams you shouldn't place money on.

"Mmfhg!" Fairly sure that Archer hadn't meant to challenge him for leadership of the tribe in Troll, Harry helped him sit up.

"How are you feeling?" He asked anxiously as Archer rubbed his forehead.

"Oh, I've been worse." The man grumbled. Then he laughed, and said. "Those Peruvian wizards weren't too friendly, were they?"

Harry smirked as he replied. "They seemed to think you were blaspheming their gods when you did some wandless magic."

"Aye. Wands are a crutch, Harry. Take their wooden sticks away, and even a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore is severely weakened." Harry rolled his eyes. This was a common rant of Archer's, almost a mantra. "Now," Archer continued. "let's go upstairs and unpack."

They ascended the stepladder, and Harry flicked the light switch, revealing a comfy living room and kitchen. He was facing the stone door which led out of the tower. To his left was a winding staircase, which he followed up to his bedroom. It was a cozy little space, with a four poster bed, a desk, and bookshelves lining the walls. His old toy broomstick lay on a rack above a small fireplace. Taking his suitcase out of his pocket (it wasn't currently much bigger than a deck of cards), he mentally reached for his magic and said "Finite Incantatem!" He gave a pleased smile as it grew to its actual size.

A few minutes later, Archer yelled, "Harry! Come down, please!"

Harry rushed down to see Archer sitting in a recliner, holding a sealed letter in one hand, and petting Horus, Nellie's Egyptian owl, with his other. Another owl was flying around the room giving agitated hoots. Archer wasn't smiling as he handed the letter to Harry.

"This letter was intended for your 'twin' in Privet Drive." He explained. "Horus managed to intercept it. It's from Hogwarts."

Harry took the yellowed paper and turned it over. It was addressed to Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

Cupboard under the stairs! Harry and Archer had gone and spied on the miserable fate of his clone a couple of times, but it still shocked him that anyone would be treated that way. Whatever Dumbledore's intentions, Harry was angry at the man for being willing to abandon him to such a fate.

Harry read through the acceptance letter, and the list of required books and apparel. He looked up and asked, "What happens now?"

The man rubbed his jaw. Finding scraggly hairs, he muttered some words and they disappeared, before he replied. "Good question, Harry. We're now posed with a problem of my own making, since I kidnapped you. Here's what we'll do…

An hour later, Archer and Harry appeared on the front steps of the Dursley's house. Archer hugged Harry. "You're a good kid. Just remember the plan and it will all go fine. You're going to love Hogwarts."

Harry blinked away tears as he looked up at the man. "Thank you for, for -" He stopped. He still didn't know why Archer and his parents had done so much for him.

"For kidnapping you?" Archer chuckled as Harry nodded. "Kid, you are very welcome. Now come on!"

Archer turned the handle on the Dursley's front door; it wasn't locked. Easing quietly inside followed by Harry, he stopped by the locked cupboard under the stairs, and heard ragged breathing from inside it. He bent down and whispered, "Finite Incantatem!" The breathing stopped. Harry's hair actually stood on end as a huge amount of power rushed into Archer.

He opened the numerous bolts securing the door, which swung open to reveal the now empty cupboard. It was filled mostly by a small mattress, a shelf with various odds and ends that must have been important to his clone, and a toilet in the corner. A bare light bulb hung low, shedding weak, yellow light. Harry struggled as he tried to fit inside the cupboard. His clone's growth must have been stunted due to his bad treatment here.

"Good luck, Harry!" Archer whispered. "I took the liberty of hiding birthday presents from me and my parents in your suitcase before you shrunk it. Don't open them until your birthday! And remember, stick to the plan!" He shut and bolted the door, leaving a very cramped Harry. With his ear to the door, Harry heard Archer's footsteps as they presumably made their way toward where the Dursleys were having lunch.

Suddenly, shrieks and yells rang out. Harry grinned. Dressed all in leather, with his cowl up and a swirling red cape for effect, Archer made quite an imposing figure. Being six-foot-four didn't hurt either. Harry heard a muffled "Obliviate!" then all was quiet. Footsteps went by him once more, and after more whispered goodbyes, there was a sharp crack and Harry was alone.

Curling up in the tiny area, Harry mentally worked through the plan again. Their first order of business had been to send an acceptance letter back via the Hogwarts owl they had caught. Harry used a pen; growing up in a muggle home meant that he wouldn't have been exposed to ink quills. So he wrote:

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_Is this some kind of joke? Magic and wizards and stuff? This owl delivered your message while I was at a park and started to follow me around, so I snuck home to write a reply._

_I really want all of this to be true, but even if it was there are a lot of problems. My aunt and uncle hate anything unnatural. I'm sure they would lock me up if they knew about this letter. Wands and Spellbooks aren't exactly advertised in any newspapers, either, so I wouldn't know how to get your school materials._

_Can you help me? A good time to talk would be tonight at 6 pm. The Dursleys watch this Insult to Injury TV show for like three hours during that time. I realize you could be psycho kidnappers or something, but I don't care much at this point._

_Confusedly,_

_Harry Potter_

With any luck, they would take it at face value. Archer hoped they would send Hagrid, who was apparently easier to fool. Harry didn't like fooling anyone, but he also didn't want to get Archer in trouble for taking care of him for so long.

Harry woke with a start, as his watch beeped quarter till six. He had dozed off! Stuffing his robe in his suitcase, he took out some oversized muggle clothes that might have been hand-me-downs from Dudley, and put them on. Then he bent his glasses a bit, slightly cracking the left frame. Shrinking his case again, he slipped it in his pocket and put a hand on the door. "Alohomora!" he whispered repeatedly, and each time heard a bolt slide back or a lock open.

He pushed the door open and eased into the hall. The television was blaring. Maybe there actually was a show at this time called Insult to Injury. The Dursleys seemed to constantly watch television, so he thought his escape was a pretty safe bet.

"And just where do you think you're going, boy?" A voice bellowed as a figure crashed through the front door, balancing seven large pizzas. Around said pizzas Harry could see a short beefy man, with almost no neck, and a startlingly red face. Uncle Vernon.

"I - I just need a drink!" Harry croaked very convincingly. Truthfully, he had just been startled by Vernon's sudden appearance. Of all the bad luck…

"How did you get out of there?" Vernon squinted inquisitively as he balanced the pizzas on the stair railing, and began advancing toward Harry, menacing arms outstretched. He hadn't seemed to notice that anything was amiss about Harry. Archer's memory charm had worked perfectly.

"It was unlocked! Honest!" Harry protested hopelessly as Vernon shoved him back in the cupboard and locked it. His uncle proceeded to retrieve the pizza and thunder toward the living room.

With a sigh, Harry unlocked the door again. He was now an expert at Alohomora. Before leaving the house, he placed a letter with a forged Hogwarts seal on the doormat, addressed to Vernon.

Walking down Privet Drive, he yelped as a gigantic figure walked toward him, asking, "Is that you, Harry?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the little delay. School is starting up again, so I needed some time to get back into the swing of things. **

Chapter 3

Harry smiled as he walked along next to Hagrid through the wonderful, winding streets of Diagon Alley. Yesterday evening, after getting over his fright at Hagrid's size, he had come to like the huge man. But he still hated playing the fool.

While taking the train up to London, Harry was forced to ask tons of questions about the wizarding world and his parents, whose answers he already knew, but wouldn't if he had grown up with the Dursleys. It was a tiring job, and Hagrid's discomfort at saying Voldemort's name, and near tears while recounting his parent's death didn't help matters.

It was late afternoon, and the pair had already visited Gringotts, Ollivander's, and all the other shops containing school supplies. To top it all off, Hagrid had bought Harry a beautiful white owl as a early birthday present. So despite the annoyance of playing dumb, he was extremely happy.

"Sorry, what did you say, Hagrid?" Harry realized the groundskeeper had addressed him.

"Like I just said, you don't leave for Hogwarts for almost five weeks, and I'm needed back at Hogwarts. It'd be a crime to send yer back to the Dursleys-."

Hagrid paused as a familiar man walked around the corner of Flourish and Blotts, headed straight toward him.

"Archer Latham." Hagrid growled, his eyebrows pulling together. "What brings you 'ere?"

"Hello, Hagrid." Archer smiled pleasantly. He looked quite small next to Hagrid. "Sometimes it seems as if all roads lead to London, despite it being on a very small island. In fact, I've been traveling for the last couple of years, looking for signs of your missing Dark Lord. Running into one of the wizarding world's youngest celebrities is merely a twist of fate. Hello, Mr. Potter. Nice to meet you." Archer stuck out his hand.

"Likewise, Mr. Latham." Harry replied thoughtfully, shaking his hand politely. He had never heard Archer's last name before.

"He looks quite healthy for living with his relatives. Lily and James told me all about them, so I'm surprised he's in such good knack."

Archer raised an eyebrow at Harry to tell him he meant no offense for referring to him like a stray dog. Archer didn't want to appear too familiar with Harry. Harry just stared back. Archer had known his parents?

"Harry," growled Hagrid, "was treated terribly by those ruddy Dursleys. He did notice, however, that the soy milk his pig of a cousin forced him to drink somehow made him bigger." Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Rather than question Harry's good health as well, Hagrid had bought the lie Harry had told him.

"Either Dumbledore's up to his old tricks or I need to buy some soy milk." Archer replied, making Harry stifle a laugh. "Goodbye, Hagrid, Potter. Give my regards to Albus." With that the wizard swept jauntily away, not feeling the glares Hagrid was giving him.

"Why don't you like him, Hagrid? He seems nice to me." Harry tugged at Hagrid's sleeve. It was an honest question, and further meetings would be awkward for him if they were at odds with each other, because he liked both of them.

"Tha's not my place to tell, Harry. To get back on topic, I'm afraid you've got to go back to your relatives until school starts. I hate leaving you, but I got stuff to do." Hagrid looked quite distressed.

"I'll be fine, Hagrid. I'll just drink lots of soy milk.'' Harry's grin hid his own misgivings. He had only met Uncle Vernon for two nasty minutes. What would five weeks be like with Dudley and Petunia as well?"

OoOoO

Albania! This was the best lead he'd gotten in years. The goblin clans seemed to have their fingers in everything, so being one of their few human friends was incredibly useful. Archer paused in a side street of Diagon alley to make sure he had all of his equipment, then disappeared with a loud crack.

"Whoa!" Struggling to regain his balance, Archer stumbled away from the small pit he had almost Apparated into. Pulling himself together, he looked around him. He was in a thick forest that rose and fell with the hills the trees grew on. Looming to his right was a mountain. Mount Korab, if he remembered correctly.

Archer began a fast jog toward the left ridge of the mountain, his steps hardly making a sound. He saw a lynx and a pine marten, who studiously ignored him as he ran past.

When he heard a click in front of him, pure instinct made him fling himself to the ground, as two bullets whined past him. He quickly got behind a tree, thinking. That was no hunting rifle. He was most likely facing a small group of bandits. Maybe he could talk his way out of this.

Struggling to recall his rudimentary knowledge of Albanian, he shouted a greeting, then flinched as another bullet chipped some bark off his tree. Maybe not.

He swung up into the tree, climbing roughly twenty feet to a wide branch before looking down. He hadn't fired back, so they were slowly flanking his position. There were three of them, armed with what looked like old Springfields. Muttering some words, he fused their triggers until they were immobile, rendering the guns useless. Magic wasn't fair, but he really didn't have time for this.

Squatting down, he jumped outward explosively, leaping out directly above one man, who looked up just in time to break Archer's fall with his face. The other two men started swearing loudly when they realized their guns no longer worked.

Running toward the closest man, Archer slid under his waiting fists, knocking him over then pressing a nerve on his neck, making his face go slack.

The last man grinned as he took out a very long knife. He handled the blade expertly, and was balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet. This guy knew how to fight. Archer mumbled a few words, and a stick behind the knife-wielder cracked, distracting him just long enough to be knocked unconscious. Once again, it felt like cheating, but Archer had learned long ago that every advantage he had over his opponent, any well placed distraction he could create, was a quick, safe way to end a fight.

Archer sighed as he searched the men, relieving them of the knife, some Albanian currency, and a particularly nasty looking flask of booze. These were really low-grade bandits. He continued jogging.

Two days later, Archer found it. A small shack, cleverly concealed at the feet of Mount Korab. Removing several wards that did particularly nasty things to those unauthorized to enter took another two days of work. Archer slowly entered the shack, wary of any surprises. His instincts saved him yet again as he dove to the side, narrowly evading a magical dart that whistled by him. He heard it slam into a tree outside.

Looking around the empty room, his heart sank. Frustrated, he threw the bandit's blade deep into the wall. It was clear that very dark magic had been performed here, but the place had been uninhabited for months. He was too late.

OoOoO

Albus Dumbledore raised an eyebrow as a disheveled Archer walked into his office. The other eyebrow rose as Archer banished some blood off of a shoe and used a neatening-up charm on himself.

"You are very nearly late for your job interview, Mr. Latham. I was inclined to think your application for Assistant Professor wasn't serious."

"Hello Albus!" Archer cheerfully stuck out his hand. He was holding a sealed plastic bag. "Care for some Froot Loops? They're an American breakfast cereal, but I find they make a tasty little treat."

In spite of himself, the curious headmaster tried some.

"I assure you I am completely serious," Archer continued. "Let me tell you why should you hire me. I have extensive magical knowledge and skills, and I've been told I am good with children. Plus, I'm not sure how you could pass up the opportunity to order me around."

Dumbledore's lips twitched, but he said, "Not good enough, Latham."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts needs continuity, Albus. Teachers run through the position faster than a broom flies. As an Assistant Professor, I can make sure students are constantly improving to meet their O.W.L., N.E.W.T., and..." Archer paused "... survival requirements."

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a couple of moments before giving his verdict. He looked like someone preparing to drink a particularly nasty potion. "Very well, Archer. I believe you will find the North - East tower to your liking. Welcome to Hogwarts."

OoOoO

Harry shrunk the last of Dudley's old, broken toys and gadgets his cousin had littered across the floor and shoved them into a closet. The forged Hogwarts letter Harry had left on the Dursley's doormat had worked wonders, scaring them enough to give Harry Dudley's second bedroom. Even so, the last week had only been bearable due to the thought of his upcoming birthday and Hogwarts. When he stayed in his room they mostly left him alone to read his new schoolbooks, but outside that door was a whole different matter.

Vernon shouted at him, cuffed him, and ordered him around, while Petunia forced him to tend the garden, cook, wash, and any other chore she could think of. But Dudley was the worst. Still much bigger than Harry, he seemed to make it his personal mission to make up for the ten years of injustices Harry had missed because of getting kidnapped by Archer. Harry just wished he knew some good wandless hexes.

Finally his birthday arrived. Petunia started it off by generously giving him three paper clips and making him cook pancakes for Dudley.

As soon as he was able, Harry retreated up to his room, opened his trunk, and unshrunk three brightly wrapped gifts. Archer had sent him a pair of school shoes, with a short note attached:

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday! These shoes are magically enchanted to complement whatever clothes you are wearing at the time. However, the real secret is when you tap them with your wand, and say 'Silencio.' Then no movement or sound you make, except for speaking, will be heard! See you soon!

\- Archer

Harry immediately put them on, and they became a pair of grungy old sneakers to match the oversized hand-me-downs he was still wearing. Then he activated them, following Archer's instructions.

Moving about the room, he made no noise. It was eerie, how he couldn't hear his own breathing, or the sound of his shirt rustling against his skin. He silently clapped his hands. He noiselessly stomped his foot.

"This is so cool!" He said, startling himself.

Nellie and Nicholas had sent him two books. The first was titled Tips and Tricks for Magical studies. It would undoubtedly help him at Hogwarts. The second was called A Nearly Complete Guide to the Wizarding World. Nicholas explained by letter that it looked like a huge table of contents until you tapped your wand on the subject you were interested in, and a chapter or so regarding the subject would appear.

Hagrid had apparently decided that buying an owl for Harry (who named it Hedwig) was not enough, so he sent him a large cake as well, flown in by three very tired owls, who somehow managed to avoid being seen by Vernon.

It was not Harry's best birthday, because his friends were too far away and his family was far too close, but the letters and gifts managed to distract him from the Dursleys for a while. He was tempted to send thank you's back via Hedwig, but he didn't want Vernon to know that owls delivered letters until he was in a truly desperate situation.

The month of August seemed to decide that Harry's time with the Dursleys was precious, so it dragged its feet and dawdled, apparently enjoying the amount of punishment Harry was enduring. One morning, Harry finished the last piece of his stale birthday cake. Steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation, he magically escaped from his room. Uncle Vernon had locked him in there after pranking Dudley with his new noiseless shoes.

"Uncle Vernon?" He asked as he entered the kitchen and helped himself to a sandwich.

"Ye- How did you manage to get out?" The man spluttered, his face turning various shades of red, including one that matched the curtains.

"Oh. Dudley was getting bored, so he let me out. It's kind of hard to hit someone when they're locked away, you know. Anyways, tomorrow my school train leaves from King's Cross Station . Will you take me there?"

"And why would I do that?"

"It means you wouldn't see me for nine months. Duh." Harry knew he would probably pay for his attitude, but he really had to get to London.

"Fine, but only because there's a Grunnings conference later that day." After agreeing, Vernon still looked incensed at the thought of helping Harry.

OoOoO

"Get out, boy!" Suddenly he could see again, and Harry was hauled, dazedly, into the parking lot at King's Cross Station. Vernon must have decided that Harry's luggage, as well as Hedwig, were more deserving of the back seat, so he'd shoved Harry into the car's boot.

A wandless Engorgio charm gave him some space, and air seemed to come from somewhere, but Vernon had taken great delight in making sharp turns and accelerating into speed bumps, making Harry feel like a pinball by the end of the ride.

Vernon chucked Harry's belongings out onto the asphalt, and Harry just managed to catch Hedwig's cage. The car lurched as Vernon got in, slammed the door, and drove away.

"Goodbye to you, too," Harry muttered as he maneuvered his stuff onto a trolley then made his way into the big station to search for platform Nine and Three Quarters.


	4. Chapter 4

** Chapter Four.**

** Disclaimer: Some lines are taken from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. No money is being made off those, or the world or characters which she created.**

** A/N: All hail Ebony Starstorm! Ebony has agreed to beta this fanfic and has already helped me rectify some rather clumsy errors.**

Chapter 4

"He might have died, and you wouldn't know the difference. I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

Harry watched interestedly as Ron Weasley, a gangly boy with bright red hair, raised his wand to perform a spell on his pet rat. He had seldom seen wand magic, due to growing up under Nellie and Nicholas, who seemed to do everything the muggle way, and Archer, who didn't need one.

He hadn't had any trouble finding the platform. Hagrid hadn't told him that he was supposed to run into the divider between platforms nine and ten, but there was a chapter on the Hogwarts Express in his Nearly Complete Guide to the Wizarding World which helped him immensely.

Once on the train, he had found an empty compartment, and with the help of a sneaky weightless charm, had stored his gigantic suitcase away, glad he had an easier time than other students fighting a losing battle with their own luggage.

Harry had made sure to keep his scar hidden under his hair. He didn't want anyone befriending him based on his name. Shortly after the train started moving, Ron had barged in and settled down. Harry soon realized how fun it was to talk to someone his own age (after Ron had finally stopped saying "Blimey! You really are Harry Potter!").

After a while, however, the fun wore off. Ron was fanatical about Quidditch, and seemed to talk about nothing else. That was mostly okay with Harry, but Ron directed that fervor toward the Chudley Cannons, which made Harry question his sanity. Maybe he just enjoyed disappointment? Was Ron even aware that most people no longer bet on the results of matches the Cannons played?

"Harry, watch!" Ron had held his rat on his lap and raised his wand. Just then the compartment door slid open, revealing a round faced boy who looked very distressed, and a bushy haired girl with large front teeth.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one." She looked quite excited, as if this were some dangerous quest.

"Not unless it's an invisible toad." Harry replied. Neville shook his head. "It's not? Good!"

Now the girl was focused on Ron's raised wand. "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then." She immediately sat down opposite Ron. Apparently she'd forgotten her quest.

"Er – All right." Ron was nervous now that he had a bigger audience. Stuttering slightly, he chanted as he waved his wand.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

Meanwhile, Harry decided to try and help, so he mumbled a wandless transfiguration spell that might do the trick. There was a flash of light and Scabbers the rat was now a deep shade of magenta! Harry scowled while Ron looked incredulously at his wand.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all. It was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" She spoke at an incredible speed.

Before Ron could reply, Harry opened another chocolate frog out of the stash they had bought earlier. "Agrippa!" He said, surprised, and Ron jumped about a foot. As Harry leaned forward to show Ron, it slipped out of his hands through the open window.

"NO!" Ron shoved his head out the window. Then he ran out of the compartment, screaming, "I think it went back into the train further down!"

In the ensuing silence, Neville saw a large toad right outside the compartment, in the aisle. "Trevor!" He shouted, as Harry smiled. His Accio spell had worked well, at least.

"Won't you join me?" Harry asked. "I have more sweets than I know what to do with." Maybe these two thought about something other than Quidditch.

They readily agreed, and Harry started to relax. Neville and Hermione took the news relatively calmly that he was the boy-who-lived, then seemed to forget about it. As they talked, it was evident Hermione was incredibly smart, and Neville, though shy, was good company. But where had he heard of the Longbottoms from?

As the trio discussed what they thought Hogwarts would be like, the door slid open again. Harry had been expecting to see Ron, triumphantly holding up his card, but three different boys appeared instead. The middle one was very pale, with light blond hair. He was dwarfed by two big, mean boys on either side of him.

"Is it true?" the pale boy asked. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes." Harry replied. Somehow Ron had managed to gossip 'all down the train' while looking for his precious card. Oh well.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

"Do you practice that sneer, or is it just hereditary?" Harry asked. Archer had told Harry about the Malfoys. They were an Influential, Dark wizarding family, who were fabulously rich, and had connections to Voldemort. So he knew they were prideful, but when he saw Draco's face casually set in an expression of complete and utter contempt toward others, he was too curious not to ask.

"What?" Draco took a step forward, caught between angry and confused.

"Calm down, we can discuss this like civilized folk." Harry coughed, while saying "Colloportus!" The compartment door shut behind Draco, separating the boy from his minions.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. You have a beautiful sneer!" Harry apologized as Draco tried to open the door. "To introduce ourselves properly, I am Harry James Potter, this is Neville Longbottom, and that's Hermione Granger. Have a chocolate frog." Harry didn't know why he wanted to talk to Draco, but ever since Archer had educated him about Purebloods, he had wanted a closer look at the species.

"Granger, hmm? I've never heard that name before." Draco looked suspiciously at Hermione, as if not knowing someone's surname was a very bad thing. Outside the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle continued to thump on the door.

"My mother and father are Muggles." Hermione said defiantly. Harry guessed that some of the books she had read had told her about bloodline prejudice. No wonder she was nervous about going to Hogwarts when her parentage seemingly already set her back!

Malfoy's sneer returned, but before he could say anything, Harry broke in.

"I'll have you know that Voldemort's father was a muggle. What's your basis for your prejudice if one of the most powerful Slytherin wizards ever was half-muggle?" Draco opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again. Denying Harry's statement could be seen as defending the Dark Lord, which was a mistake in these peaceful times. Harry continued.

"Anyways, I'll bet you fifty galleons Hermione's exam results are better than yours!" Draco's eyes lit up. He could convince Harry Potter that purebloods were superior.

"Make it a hundred." Draco said confidently, shaking hands with Harry. The compartment door finally flew open, and Draco left, trailed by a baffled Crabbe and Goyle.

"Harry!" Hermione was almost in tears. "I hardly know anything about magic. I don't even know if I'll pass!"

"I'm sorry, but has Hogwarts, A History ever mentioned anyone failing first year?" Harry tried to reassure her. "I've only known you for a short time, but I'm convinced you'll get better grades than him, Crabbe and Goyle combined. That's not to say I'm using you to get money. You take the galleons won by beating him. I just wanted him to view us as competition rather than targets to be bullied."

"Good idea." Neville mumbled. He had seemed to shrink when Malfoy entered the compartment.

"I'll go see if we're almost there. You two should change into your school robes." Hermione left, a bit more cheerful.

As Harry and Neville changed, a voice said, "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry and Neville traded nervous glances as they stepped off the train into the huge crowd of students filling the platform. Wondering what to do, the boys looked around.

Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Harry's reply was lost in the crowd as the boys pushed toward Hagrid, getting joined by Hermione on the way.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

The group followed Hagrid down a dark slippery path. There was some laughter at the first person who tripped, until everyone started falling over. The only sounds were of stumbling shoes and Neville sniffing.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

Harry involuntarily gasped, his classmates doing the same. On the edge of a lake stood a huge castle built on a high mountain. With lights flickering in countless windows, it was an awesome sight.

Hagrid led them to some boats by the lake. Harry, Neville, and Hermione were joined by a sweaty Ron, who proudly showed Harry his battered card as the boats started moving.

"Thanks, Ron! You shouldn't have." Harry took the card and put it in a pocket of his robes. Hermione stifled a giggle as Ron looked heartbroken. Harry took pity on him, saying, "But I suppose you earned it." He gave Agrippa back to Ron as the boats carried the students toward the castle.

OoOoO

"Granger, Hermione!" Mrs. McGonagall called Hermione forward as the Sorting continued.

"RAVENCLAW!" The Sorting Hat shouted, and Harry smiled. No surprise there. The Hat made it clear that was where the clever people went. Harry frowned as Neville went to Hufflepuff and Malfoy to Slytherin. The few kids he had met were all in different houses. Mrs. McGonagall's voice rang out again. "Potter, Harry!"

Harry walked forward confidently as all around the hall students were whispering and staring at him. It was embarrassing, but he had to admit that he sort of liked the attention. Archer had frequently warned him about his celebrity status in the wizarding world, and the conditions under which he had gained that fame were too terrible for Harry to become too conceited.

Harry sat at the stool and gulped as the Sorting Hat was put on his head.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

I don't know, Harry mentally complained. All of the people I've met on the train were put in different houses.

"You're not helping me at all." The Hat reprimanded. "Even so, I think it had better be GRYFFINDOR!"

As he walked to the Gryffindor table, Harry pasted a smile on his face while groaning inwardly. Now he was stuck with Ron 'Chudley Cannons' Weasley. Even Draco would make a more interesting, if less agreeable, room mate. Of course, Ron hadn't been Sorted yet, but it seemed like the hat took your opinion into account, and he knew where Ron wanted to be.

Harry sat down, and drove his disappointment away, ashamed of himself. The whole table had welcomed him. As the sorting continued, Harry turned his attention toward the teacher's table. Hagrid was there, smiling at him, and he saw what had to be Albus Dumbledore, because he looked exactly like the chocolate frog card of him Neville had opened.

As expected, Ron was put into Gryffindor. One more student was sorted, then Albus Dumbledore stood up and smiled at the students.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! "Thank you!" He sat back down as everyone clapped and cheered as mountains of food appeared.

Harry blinked, confused by the Headmaster's speech, then dug in eagerly. He knew that Archer did his best, but he was not a great cook, and lacked a house elf. The food he made was simple, filling, and healthy, but nowhere near as tasty as what was spread before Harry now.

Harry watched as Sir Nicholas, the Gryffindor Ghost pulled his head off his neck, revealing... Ugh. What with that and Ron inhaling food across from him, he felt a little queasy. Then dessert appeared, and Harry regained his appetite as he listened to the conversations flowing around him.

Looking up at the teacher's table, Harry saw a teacher with a turban... Professor Quirrell! Hagrid had introduced him at the Leaky Cauldron. He was talking to a hook-nosed teacher with black hair. The teacher glanced at him, and gave Harry such a venomous glare that Harry looked away, shaken, as his scar started hurting. Over his five weeks at Privet Drive, he had received similar looks from the Dursleys.

Rubbing his scar, Harry addressed the prefect next to him, who had introduced himself as Percy Weasley, Ron's big brother. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you?" Percy replied. "No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to – everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Professor Snape did not seem to like him, Harry thought. He should have known Hogwarts wasn't going to be all smooth sailing, to use a Muggle expression.

Suddenly, all the desserts disappeared, and Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent. "Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." He looked around. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. Also, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry started to laugh, but then noticed how serious the rest of the students were. A very painful death. Really?

"Finally, I must introduce you to our new staff. Your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is Professor Quirrell."

There was some polite applause as Quirrell rose, took a choppy bow, and returned to his seat. He looked terrified.

Dumbledore continued. "And for the first time in many a year, Hogwarts has hired an Assistant Professor. As the name implies, he will primarily aid teachers in classes, or teach if they are unwell. Among his other duties, he will hold study sessions for O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students. Please welcome Mr. Archer Latham."

Harry sat, stunned, as a dark figure rose from Snape's other side and threw off his cloak. As Archer waved to the crowd, liberally giving out winks and smiles, and receiving a hearty welcome, Harry wondered how he hadn't recognized Archer during the banquet. He snickered as the older Gryffindor girls became all giggly as they whispered about 'study sessions'.

Archer sat down, and Dumbledore conducted the school in a disastrous rendition of the school song. Finally the prefects led him and his classmates to Gryffindor tower, which he hardly noticed as he found his dorm and went straight to sleep.

OoOoO

**Please review! **


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Sorting Hat shouted. Archer clapped discreetly as Harry got up from the stool and made his way toward the Gryffindor table, receiving raucous applause from his new house.

He would do well there, Archer mused, but it might be necessary to stop Harry from becoming so brave as to border on suicidal, a common result of becoming a Gryffindor. That was the problem with the Houses, in Archer's opinion. During the seven years at Hogwarts, students' personalities became somewhat one dimensional, as the stereotypical gifts and flaws of each house were exacerbated.

No one could beat the Dark Lord with bravery alone. To do so one would also need the cleverness of the Ravenclaws, the diligence of the Hufflepuffs, even the ambition and cunning of the Slytherins. And Archer had a feeling Harry hadn't seen his last of Voldemort.

Finally, the last of the first years were sorted, and food appeared in front of everyone. "This stuff is good!" Archer thought to himself. "Being a teacher is going to make me soft."

He turned to join the conversation between Snape and Quirrell, who he had met in the first staff meeting of the year. Snape was mercilessly quizzing the poor man on his Defense methods. He was obviously furious that Dumbledore had refused to let him teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"So, Quirinus, you're saying it's possible to cage a Demon singlehandedly?" Snape pressed. "The only successful attempts documented were through the efforts of a large, organized team."

Archer broke in as Quirrell stuttered. "Of course, Severus. All you need to do is place a boggart in front of one. You know there are things even Demons fear." Quirrell paled as Archer continued. "The boggart would distract it long enough for a skilled wizard to cast a Decipulus."

"That actually sounds feasible, Latham." Snape shot an appraising look at the man. He had gotten the impression that Archer had been hired because Albus owed him a favor, but it appeared he had some measure of intelligence. "However, the pure chance of..." He paused as he caught the eye of Harry Potter. The boy looked just like his father, and his expression seemed similarly arrogant.

"Snape!" Archer hissed, drawing Snape's gaze away from the boy. "Are you really going to let your grudge against his dead father influence you enough to mistreat Lily's son?"

The question surprised caught Snape off guard. How did Archer know so much about Snape's past? "Are you suggesting..." He began, but Archer cut him off.

"If you forget that his last name is Potter, and treat him as his own person, you may help yourself in the future." The two men stared at each other for a long moment, then turned away as Quirrell hesitantly changed the subject.

The meal ended, and Snape swept down to the dungeons to greet his new first year Slytherins. He had much to consider, not least the puzzle Archer Latham appeared to be.

OoOoO

Albus smiled happily as he sat in his office. It was early morning, well before breakfast. Classes would start today. This year would be... interesting, especially since Harry Potter was now at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore turned in surprise as a head appeared out of his fireplace. "Good morning, Nicholas." He greeted the man warmly. Nicholas Flamel was a longtime friend and partner in many magical discoveries. The twelve uses for dragon's blood were just their most publicized findings.

"Albus, do you have it?" Flamel looked flustered, an unusual thing for the ancient man.

"Of course." The Headmaster replied, as Flamel relaxed. "I had Hagrid retrieve it five weeks ago, while he went shopping with Harry. It is safe at Hogwarts. What is the problem?"

Flamel frowned. "The vault in which it was kept was broken into roughly a week after you took it. No one was caught. Bloody goblins and their secrecy. I just learned this now, and that's because the Daily Prophet is going to print an article on it. No matter. Keep it safe, Dumbledore."

Before he could end the call, Albus stopped him. "Is it really necessary to keep it at Hogwarts? You know how much this endangers my students."

"Once again, there's nowhere else it can go. With the goblins' consent, I placed a Fidelius Charm on that bank vault, and yet someone still managed to get into it."

Flamel ended the call, leaving Dumbledore in a considerably darker mood. He had to protect the Stone at all costs. There was one teacher he hadn't yet entrusted with this knowledge. Maybe it was time.

OoOoO

"You put the PHILOSOPHER'S STONE in the middle of Hogwarts?" Archer stood in the Headmaster's office, having been called away from a delicious breakfast. He was astounded by the stupidity two geniuses such as Dumbledore and Flamel seemed to possess. What made this news painful was the fact that Nicholas had told him nothing about this. And Nicholas had always confided in him.

"Shout a little louder, and maybe Voldemort can hear you." Albus responded dryly before giving a lengthy explanation of all the reasons why it was necessary.

"That doesn't change the fact that these students are wizarding Britain's future, and you're putting that at risk." Archer crossed his arms.

"That's why I need you to add defenses to the stone." Albus pleaded. "I know from our, er, past experiences that you are quite a powerful wizard."

"Blast." Archer could practically feel the flattery working, although the two previous times Albus had begged him for help were in extremely dangerous situations. He sighed. "Fine. I accept."

After accepting a lemon drop, Archer left the Headmaster's office, and went to his tower to collect the necessary equipment to help Professor Sprout with the fourth year Ravenclaw and Slytherin students.

The lesson was about Australian Crimps, magical plants similar to Venus Flytraps, except they were more aggressive, and mobile. The Crimps' animosity meant he spent most of the class saving students fingers from their advances, but his mind was definitely elsewhere. He had to talk to Harry privately. Harry needed to know what was going on. And what could he do to further protect the Stone?

OoOoO

Harry sighed as he walked into the Great Hall. His first two days of classes had been brilliant, except for the fact that people constantly stared at him and whispered about him. Noticing the eyes he drew as he made his entrance, this third day was not going to be any different.

Of course, today he knew he was going to draw attention for his actions not his name. He greeted his Gryffindor mates, while walking right by them, to sit next to Neville Longbottom at the Hufflepuff table. Neville was busy tackling some eggs, and didn't notice his approach.

"Morning, Nev!" Harry said brightly. The couple classes he'd shared with the first-year 'Puffs, Neville had been even more shy than when he had been on the train. He also seemed to be struggling to perform spells with his wand.

"Oh. Hello." Neville smiled faintly at Harry, but then he noticed all the stares Harry, and by proxy Neville himself, were receiving.

"Introduce me?" Harry asked, gesturing at the curious table.

"Okay. This is Harry Potter." Neville stuttered, while many 'Puffs rolled their eyes.

"I think the scar gave it away, Nev." Harry said kindly, and a couple kids laughed.

"Right." Neville grinned. "Harry, this is Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, Zacharias Smith..." He rattled off a couple more names while Harry shook hands.

"Are you allowed to sit here?" Justin asked, little rudely.

"It is only allowed if the student from another house doesn't cause undue disturbance." Harry whispered, as he sneaked a look at the teacher's table. "So I'd appreciate if you kept it to a dull roar." They laughed as he grabbed a plate and dug in while the table settled down.

After a while he spoke up again, deciding a direct approach was best. "I partly came to ask why you guys stare at me all the time." Suddenly, the 'Puffs found that the tablecloth was incredibly interesting.

"You're the boy-who-lived." an older boy said defensively. "We're all just really curious." The others nodded.

"I grew up with non-magic people," Harry lied. "Right. Muggles. I didn't even know about my parents till just over a month ago." He ignored their surprised and pitying expressions and stood up. "Well, I've got to get ready for potions. Nice talking to you."

He found the other Gryffindor first years and chatted casually with Seamus Finnigan as they walked to the dungeons, but his heart was racing at an incredible rate.

Judging by how Snape had looked at him, the potions Professor would go to great lengths to make their time together hell, so Harry had prepared much more extensively for potions than any of his other classes. He just hoped he'd done enough.

Entering the classroom, Harry noted the many pickled and dissected animals put in jars, placed on prominent shelves lining the walls. They definitely added to the creepy atmosphere. He assumed they were up there to frighten students, since they would have been equally accessible in a cupboard.

Snape swept in noiselessly, startling Dean, one of his Gryffindor year mates, and began the roll call. Harry wondered how his cape managed to billow so impressively as he walked. Magic?

"Harry Potter." Snape stopped, remarking, "Our new - celebrity." Harry held his tongue as he heard some Slytherins snickering. What could he say? Snape finished the roll call and gave a short introductory speech which actually made the subject sound interesting.

"Potter!" Snape barked as he turned his cold gaze on Harry. "I see you've been taking notes. Perhaps you could tell me what I would get if I added powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Something entirely different from what an untried first year would create, Harry thought, but replied, "I don't know, sir."

Snape sneered as he remarked, "Clearly fame isn't everything." All the Slytherins laughed.

"Let's try again, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"

Harry did a mental happy dance. He knew this one, due to a singularly interesting experience he'd had last year, when Archer had taken him to the Alps, and they'd come across a friendly (if idiotic) Yeti who'd run into a poisonous Wump.

"In the stomach of a goat, sir. It counteracts most poisons." Harry struggled to keep a smirk off his face for answering something he shouldn't know.

"Correct." Snape acquiesced, looking as if he'd just stabbed himself. "It appears you have either opened the book before class, or simply have a morbid fascination regarding the inner workings of mammals."

Several students laughed, including Harry. The jibe had caught him off guard, and he suspected such comments were the nicest things Snape would say to him.

"Either way, I should fit in here, sir." Harry replied, pointedly looking at the walls.

"Hmm." Snape raised an eyebrow. "One last question, Potter. What does a child prodigy such as yourself hope to learn from this class?"

"Firstly, how to brew potions correctly." Harry said earnestly. "But more importantly, I'd like to figure out why ingredients or combinations of ingredients affect the potion, so that the possibilities of improving or creating new potions could be explored."

Snape stared at him for a moment before collecting himself. The boy had just given a bare-bones version of the ideals most Potion makers worked by. Snape decided to ignore Harry's statement, not seeing how he could respond negatively.

"Take note, class," Snape sneered. "Powdered root of Asphodel added to an infusion of wormwood would create the Draught of Living Death. For today's lesson, however, I will distribute a little pamphlet, made by myself, titled The Dunderhead's Guide to not Exploding, Melting, or Otherwise Destroying your Cauldron..."

OoOoO

When potions class ended, Archer silently followed the students out of the dungeons, before stepping into an empty hallway and canceling his Disillusionment charm. He smiled. Harry had handled Severus beautifully, managing to lose only three points from Gryffindor. It was evident the Professor didn't know what to make of the boy.

Archer looked up as a screech owl flapped toward him, dropping a small scroll on the stone floor before flying away. After screening the letter for spells and finding none, he picked it up and began reading. The writer had used a pen, and written in a hasty scrawl.

_Dear Hands,_

_I hope this finds you safe. THEY got Joshua, and made him talk. Now they know which country you're in. I know you can disappear. Now would be a good time._

_Watch your back,_

_Uncle Sam._

Archer said the only thing that came to his mind. "Blast!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Snape retreated to his study after what seemed like a particularly long day. Upon inspecting his cauldron resting over the large fireplace, he was pleased to see that the mixture was coagulating quite nicely, though it would need to be stirred in two hours. He had been testing the effects of combining Gillyweed with rarer substances, like Dragon scales, and looked forward to writing a paper on the results.

Severus grabbed the latest edition of Potions Weekly, and sat down in his favorite armchair. His mind couldn't focus, though. With a sigh, he sank further into the chair and let his thoughts sort themselves out.

His mind immediately drifted to his meeting with the Potter child in class. While he had asked the whelp his first question, he had quickly used Legilmency on him. Not a legal practice, but one nearly impossible to be caught at, especially by such young children. Once he had got past those eyes, which looked so much like hers that it hurt, he was surprised to see Potter bite back a cheeky retort and give the simple truth regarding his ignorance. No doubt the boy would regain his arrogance once he was better acclimated to the school.

The other surprising thing was that the boy had given satisfactory answers to his last two questions. Perhaps he had inherited a small fraction of Lily's brilliance, Snape allowed. The Potions Master had to admit that James had been no dunce either. It took a smart boy to get away with bullying him all those years.

Maybe, Snape reflected, Archer's words at the opening feast were not just the inconsequential drivel of a man speaking mindlessly in favor of the boy-who-lived, as so many adults were inclined to do.

Archer. Snape ground his teeth as he thought about his largely futile efforts to find out who Hogwarts' new Assistant Professor was. He claimed to be American, 28 years old, and in his own words, had "crossed the pond looking for new job opportunities."

Snape was well aware that most wizarding countries, having a relatively small population compared to their muggle counterparts, keep wonderfully exact genealogies, helping wizards or witches make sure they aren't more closely related to someone than they realize before they begin courting them. So when Snape looked for the Latham family, he quickly found it. The only problem was that the Latham line had died out with a half-blood named Robert in the colonial days.

Snape quickly found more... lack of information. Missouri Magic, the school Archer had graduated from (and gotten all O's, apparently), had declared bankruptcy and closed its doors two years after he left, with every document oh-so-conveniently recycled.

Latham hadn't come to Britain with a port-key, or it would have registered with the International Portkey Department (Snape had to call in a favor to find that bit of information). So the man had either entered the country using apparition, or muggle transport.

As a result, Snape didn't know exactly when Archer had arrived, but he knew the man had opened a Gringotts account in June 1983. Since then he had kept a fairly low profile. His account was singularly inactive except for occasional large deposits which he had been overheard attributing to well-placed business investments. So much for 'looking for new job opportunities.' Why even find work if he was so wealthy?

The truth was, Snape knew almost nothing about Archer Latham, if indeed that was his real name. One thing was blatantly obvious. He had much to hide.

oOoOo

Harry got up from the Ravenclaw table, and said goodbye as he made his way to the History of Magic classroom. His Gryffindor friends had given him odd looks yesterday when he had joined the Hufflepuffs, but it was worth it. Beginning that day another fourth of the student body had stopped staring and whispering in his direction. The fact that he greeted many 'Puffs by name in the hallways or classes seemed to help.

Naturally, Harry decided to attempt the same thing with the Ravenclaws. As he sat across from Hermione, no one questioned his right to be there. They all probably knew exactly which page of the rulebook addressed the situation. He wasn't entirely surprised to find that breakfast with the Ravenclaws was an entirely different feeling than that of the other two houses. Gryffindors were mostly loud and good-natured, tending to form close-knit social cliques. Hufflepuffs were more quiet, and didn't seem to mind who they sat next to.

Breakfast with the Ravenclaws was an even more silent affair, as they absentmindedly ate while staring at the books in front of them. The presence of Harry drew them out of their shell some, and Harry found himself fielding numerous questions, trying to explain to them why all the books written about him were wrong. This news made them curious enough to find out what Harry was really like, which resulted in a friendly conversation. He noticed that Hermione seemed to be doing okay, impressing much older Ravenclaws with her smarts.

Getting jostled by an older Slytherin in the hallways brought him back to the present. He was smart enough not to expect a friendly welcome if he joined them for a meal. But he had made sure to simultaneously treat any he came across with respect, while trying to dissuade them of their Pureblood bigotries. A hopeless task, but it kept them unsure of what to think of him.

Turning into Professor Binns' classroom, he quickly took a seat near the front, knowing Ron preferred the back. He didn't dislike the redhead, but it was frustrating that Ron was content with underachieving academically. All he cared to talk about was how great their House team was except for an abysmally bad Seeker. Admittedly, talking sports was fun sometimes, but Harry had promised Archer he'd try to get the best grades he could.

The rest of the class, first year Gryffs and 'Claws, shuffled in, and Hermione sat down next to him. She gave him a shy smile and opened her history book near the end, which made Harry wonder exactly how many times she had read it. The last bell rang, and Professor Binns didn't appear. Then Archer walked in, closing the door behind him. He ignored the confused looks the students gave him.

"Good morning, class!" He began brightly. "In case you were wondering, Professor Binns has not celebrated his death day in a very long time, so he asked me to fill in for him today. Call me Mr. Latham, or sir, as I'm not a full-fledged Professor." He began the roll call, then paused, looking to Harry's right. "Is it pronounced Her - me - OWN - ee?" he asked, looking at Hermione apologetically. Some students laughed.

"Her - MINE - ee, sir." She replied, looking down.

"I apologize, Hermione," Archer amended. "That's a beautiful name. My American tongue couldn't quite get it first try." She nodded.

Archer finished the roll call, careful not to single Harry out. He picked up the notes Binns had left for him, stared at them for a second, then turned back to address the class.

"Professor Binns asked that I continue the introduction to the 1612 Goblin Rebellion." He noted the students' less than enthused expressions and continued, grinning. "However, today I feel inclined to rebel a bit myself." They stopped preparing for a class long doze and sat forward. Hermione looked intrigued but disapproving.

"After all, this is the History of MAGIC class, not the History of GOBLIN REBELLIONS class, and there were far more interesting and earth shattering events in 1612 than a small scuffle in modern day Hogsmeade."

"That being said, my first question for you today is: What is Magic?" The class started to speak all at once, then sat still. After a moment, Hermione raised her hand tentatively.

"Ms. Granger." Archer smiled encouragingly.

"A supernatural force that can be used to override the usual laws of nature?" She suggested.

"A good answer. Take ten points for Ravenclaw. Now, can anyone tell me for certain how and when Magic was created?" The class practically sat on their hands. Archer laughed. "If you could, you'd be the first to know. However, there are three predominant theories." He paused, gesturing for them to take notes.

"The first takes the inch muggle evolutionists put forward and goes a mile with it, claiming that the presence of magic in humans and animals is just the latest way in which creatures have evolved. This points toward the superiority of all things magical, and so is very popular in traditionalist Pureblood circles, which is ironic considering the muggle origin of the theory." Archer waited before continuing.

"The second theory is one put forward by the French sage Jacque Trajet. He argued that long ago, someone non-magically traveled backwards or forward in time, through the accidental creation or incidental appearance of a temporal gateway. This act altered reality itself, bringing magic to our world. This idea is the least regarded of the three, but remains because no one can disprove it. For all we know, it could be right." Archer paused again.

"The last theory is the most popular. It propounds that, long ago, a meteor crashed into earth, containing powerful thaumaturgical properties that affected anyone in the vicinity by increasing the size of their magical cores, essentially creating wizards. This idea has led to countless idiotic debates about the site of the supposed magical meteor."

"Now, for the remainder of the class, I'd like you to write an essay on how magic has affected today's society. You may use your history book as a reference, as well as any knowledge you have of muggles. After all, if history had been an experiment, they would be the control group. If you wish, you may discuss the topic quietly with those around you. The essay must be at least one and no more than three scrolls in length." Archer pointedly looked at Hermione.

The rest of the class passed quickly enough as they worked on their essays. Harry was one of the first to finish the essay, though felt he had an unfair advantage with all his knowledge of muggles and Hermione sitting next to him. At the end of the period, Archer spoke up again.

"For those of you who haven't finished, the essays will be due at my office the day after tomorrow. If you need further information, I would suggest finding Mrs. Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher. I am also available. Two points to both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for such a well behaved class. Mr. Potter, please remain behind."

Harry stayed in his seat as the rest of the class filed out. Archer quickly placed some charms on the room to ensure their privacy. Then he grunted in surprise as Harry flew into him, hugging him tightly.

"Easy, kid!" Archer peeled Harry off of him and set him on a school desk. "I see you survived the Dursleys."

"Yeah." Harry made a face, then looked up at Archer, brimming with curiosity. "How did you manage to get a job here?"

Archer feigned hurt. "I'm not THAT bad of a teacher you know. Anyways, I needed a job, and what better work than being paid to mold young, impressionable minds? Truth be told, I'm also looking forward to seeing you take over Hogwarts."

"Take over Hogwarts?" Harry yelped. "I just want to make some friends, get on the Quidditch team..."

"...pass your classes and be a good, normal little boy. Yes, I know," Archer interrupted. "The first three are fine by me, but you have to accept the fact that any hope of normality you have is killed by your name. You're already shaking things up around here. Going to dine with the Slytherins as well?"

"I'm not stupid." Harry replied, shaking his head.

"Good. Now listen. Any spells you learn in class, figure them out wandlessly as well on your own time. I don't want all my work with you to be wasted. I also have a little assignment for you."

"Sir, yes sir!" Harry saluted cheekily.

Archer grinned, paused, and said. "I want you to prank the Weasley twins."

"What?" Surprise turned to apprehension as Harry considered the request. In the couple days he'd been here, Fred and George had already engaged in a pranking war with Mrs. Norris, the horrid cat that was caretaker Argus Filch's pride and joy. Harry was amazed by how many things she'd been transfigured into. Everyone knew who the culprits were, but nothing could be proven. As a result of the prank war Filch could be heard muttering about thumbscrews and red-heads, while Mrs. Norris completely avoided the twins, which was probably what they wanted all along. Pranking them would not be easy, and getting away with it close to impossible.

"I'll think about it." Harry said dubiously.

"Good." Archer paused. "Tomorrow night, come to my office. I need to talk to you in a more private location. I'll let you make up a decent excuse."

"You had some memories of my parents you offered to share." Harry suggested quickly.

"Perfect. And I will, I promise you. Now, go get some lunch."

Archer watched Harry leave, before making his way to the forbidden third floor corridor. The letter he had received yesterday weighed heavily on his mind. If what it said was true, Joshua Weston had been captured, tortured, and possibly killed.

When Archer had decided it would be best for everyone if he left the States, Uncle Sam demanded he let them know about his whereabouts, in case his help was ever needed again. So after leaving, he naturally sent Weston a postcard from New Delhi, India. In all fairness, he had bought a tiny shack there, and managed a tricky bit of magic persuading any owls sent to him from outside Great Britain to deliver packages and letters there.

After that, he had persuaded a certain house elf to check the shack regularly for mail, and bring anything it found to the Diagon Alley owlery, to be sent to him from there. It was a convoluted process, but his head was still firmly attached to his shoulders, so he considered it a success. With the arrival of this letter, though, he judged that it would be roughly two to four weeks before they found him, and he was too firmly committed to helping Harry to even think of leaving. He'd just have to deal with the situation as it came. Blasted bounty hunters.

"What I would pay for a map of this castle." Archer said to himself, having finally arrived at the locked corridor. He quickly opened the door with a simple spell, snorting as he did so. How pathetic. Any curious third year could do the same, and Albus' warning had probably only increased the students' curiosity. Before he went in, Archer paused, stopped by an epiphany. Dumbledore had asked him to add an obstacle of his own, but hadn't forbade him from improving the other traps.

Archer moved into the corridor, closed the door, and locked it much more powerfully. Now, one would need the original key to get in or the ability to perform a much more powerful and obscure unlocking spell. If any less potent wandwork was performed on the door, it would respond by sending out a stunner. Archer froze as he heard a low growl from behind him.

Spinning around, he quickly focused on the dog in front of him. The fact that it had three heads, each bigger than his torso, was not lost on him. A Hell-hound. How nice. In an all-out brawl, they were admittedly terrifying, but they had one, rather amusing, weakness.

Just as the beast noticed him and lunged forward, he started singing. "When you were young, and your heart was an open book..." He was no Paul McCartney, but had a halfway decent baritone voice.

The Hell-hound slumped forward drowsily across the trap door. How unfortunate. Still singing, he began shoving it out of the way. "... you used to say, live and let live."

Once the door was freed, he made up his mind about how to make the beast more dangerous. With a wave of his hand, three huge pairs of black earmuffs appeared. "But if this ever changing world, in which we're living, makes you give in and cry..."

Archer moved the earmuffs so they covered the Hell-hound's many ears. Then he muttered a charm to make them invisible as the dog's six blood-shot eyes flew open. Archer hurled himself through the trap door, and heard it falling shut as the beast lunged forward again. Much more importantly, however, he was falling blindly into whatever trap had been set next, with a muggle song still on his lips. "... say live and let die."

oOoOo

**Disclaimer:** The characters, objects, and places in this fanfic belong to J.K. Rowling, save for Archer, who is mine. Also, some of the lines in this chapter were from Paul and Linda McCartney's song _Live and Let Die, _and obviously do not belong to me either. I'm not making any money off of either Rowling or the McCartney's work.

**A/N:** Many thanks to Ebony Starstorm for continuing to do an awesome job as a beta.

**pottersparky :** Thank you for reviewing! To address one statement you made, Harry does, in fact, have his reservations about Dumbles. However, he also sort of understands the Headmaster's reasoning behind wanting to leave him with the Dursleys. It's harder to bear a grudge against someone whose good intentions would have led to a bad situation that never actually happened. I don't intend to bash anyone in this story, but we'll see what happens. I'm glad you like the story!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hi everyone! Here's the next chapter! **

Chapter 7

Assistant Professor Archer Latham groaned as he stumbled into his tower and flattened his couch, just as a crisp dawn broke over Hogwarts. He felt sore and grumpy, and was rather amazed at how much magic he had been forced to use. Not to get past the Stone's defenses; no those had been child's play. But turning that child's play into a lethal defense for the stone, plus adding his own… special surprise, that had really taken it out of him. It was worth it, though. Anyone capable of taking Flamel's toy now would put the best professional curse-breakers to shame.

Just before falling asleep, he asked Steve, the man whose portrait hung over the fireplace, to inform Albus that he was not able to work that day. Dumbledore would understand, being the one who had asked him to protect the stone. Archer drifted off wondering who exactly Steve was.

He awoke to a gentle rapping at his door. If that was a Ravenclaw, Archer knew just what he'd say to them. He waved his hand and his clothes suddenly looked less rumpled, then got up and moved to the door, yanking it open. "Nevermore!" He shouted, then realized it was Harry standing there.

"What?" asked Harry, stepping back slightly. He had come after supper using the excuse he had invented the day before. None of his new friends questioned him as he left. They were well aware that memories of his deceased parents would be precious to him.

"Sorry." Archer grinned unrepentantly. "Is it Friday night already?"

"Yes," Harry replied slowly. "Were you drin-."

"Then by all means, come in, and we can play with your head a bit."

Harry sat down in a cushy chair, and his unofficial guardian sat opposite. For a couple of minutes he looked around at Archer's new home. He saw a few pictures of the Flamels and more of him, which he was told changed to American landscapes if anyone else looked at them. Odd trinkets littered the shelves. Yes, Archer appeared quite comfortable.

"Are you ready, Harry?" Archer asked quietly.

"Yes," Harry replied to his mentor, smiling, as he thought back to the first time this had happened. Just before they had left for Privet Drive, Archer told him to sit on a couch opposite him, similar to how they were seated now. Their other preparations had been taken care of, like writing his acceptance letter to McGonagall and the forged Hogwarts letter for the Dursleys.

"Harry." Archer had been deadly serious. "When you get to Hogwarts, you'll be in danger of revealing our secret."

"I'll never tell anyone," Harry protested, slightly hurt by Archer's apparent lack of trust in him.

Archer frowned. "You wouldn't willingly divulge information, but there are multiple branches of magic, and one is the dual art of Occlumency and Legilmency. To put it very simply, Legilmency gives the ability to break into people's minds and retrieve memories, while Occlumency alerts and secures your mind from such attacks. And there is at least one person at Hogwarts who is skilled at using both."

"Then you need to teach me!" Harry was frightened by the fact that someone could just break into his mind on a whim.

"I'm afraid I can't. It usually takes a very long time to learn, and this is magic that could be mentally damaging for someone your age to attempt to learn."

Seeing Harry's mutinous expression, he quickly said, "I'm not questioning your character or abilities. The younger you are, the harder it is to learn Occlumency." He smiled, "Luckily, I do know how to solve this problem. Many years ago, some friends helped me perfect a spell that targets certain memories." Archer had a nostalgic air about him as he continued. "It's useful, because when someone tries to enter your mind, those memories become the last thing you think of, so the assailant has to dig through every last memory you possess before he finds those targeted ones."

"In your case, they would have to slog through the ten years of awful memories from the Dursleys that I have given you from your clone. As you attend Hogwarts, there will be more and more mundane memories to protect the targeted ones."

Archer looked sadly at Harry. "The drawback of this technique is that it cannot be used to protect your entire mind, and knowing someone might callously sift through your memories, dreams, and thoughts is not a fun idea. Harry, I think protecting some of your memories is the best we can do for now, but whatever happens is your decision."

Green eyes stared back at blue ones as the boy considered the request. He appreciated the fact that Archer treated him like an adult, always telling him the truth, then taking his opinion seriously. It was obviously an integral part of the plan, yet the man hadn't done it without his knowledge, which could have been much easier. "Do it." He said, trustingly.

"Celaverimus!" Then and now, that was the spell Archer used. Immediately, a beautiful white light enveloped Harry's head. He tried to concentrate just on his two recent meetings with Archer, the memories they were trying to guard.

It was an easy task. Harry was still surprised by the facts he had learned so recently. Archer had told him that kind, quiet Nicholas was, in all likelihood, the world's premier alchemist.

He had also been told that Nicholas's greatest creation, the mythical Philosopher's Stone, was in Hogwarts, and Harry should not search for it under any circumstances. There had been a wicked gleam in Archer's eye when he had remarked that he had 'significantly increased' the protections the stone had.

As quickly as it had appeared, the white light faded. Archer and Harry stood up, walking to the door leading out of the tower. "We had better keep these meetings to a minimum, until we find better methods," Archer said reluctantly. "However, you must never hesitate to come to me in the case of an emergency."

Harry nodded, still thinking about the Stone as he walked back to the dormitories.

oOoOo

"Is it time, brother o' mine?"

"Indeed it is, old boy. Let's go see what adventures this deadly third floor corridor holds."

Fred and George Weasley shrugged off their blankets and crept out of their beds, making sure their roommates were asleep. George whipped a large, blank parchment and his wand out of his pajama pockets.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered, tapping the parchment with his wand. It was no ordinary parchment. It was called the Marauders Map, the brainchild of Messrs. Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail. It not only showed the location of every room and hallway within the castle, a marvel considering the castle's ever-shifting layout, but the location and name of every person in Hogwarts as well. It was, effectively, a prankster's Holy Grail.

After silently blessing the Marauders, George spread the map out and Fred helped him see if the path to the corridor was free of patrolling teachers, prefects, or Filch. They no longer worried about Mrs. Norris.

"That's interesting." Fred pointed to the North - East tower. "Harry Potter's still at Mr. Latham's tower."

George grinned. "Bloody brilliant history lesson that man gave." Though, in all fairness, Binns did not set a high teaching standard.

"Mmm. We're clear. Let's go!" The twins rushed down into the common room, and out the portrait hole, where the Fat Lady was sleeping. Then they made their way down the Grand Staircase, bare feet quietly slapping the stone steps as they expertly made their way through the castle. Five minutes and one secret passage later, they were standing outside the door of the restricted third floor corridor.

"Here goes nothing," Harry heard, and stopped around the corner from the voice. His left hand held a note from Archer explaining him being out well after curfew, but the man had given him directions back to Gryffindor tower via the off-limits corridor, just so he'd know how to avoid it.

Who else would be outside the corridor this time of night. Thieves? As his heart rate quickened, he peeked around to corner to identify the miscreants, and wasn't extremely surprised to see the Weasley twins. Apparently Dumbledore's warning had interested them.

Harry watched as one of them stuffed a parchment in one pocket, then drew a collection of thin, strangely bent metal rods from the other.

"Let's try the Muggle way first," the twin said. After peering at the keyhole, he selected two of the rods, shoved them in, and began twisting and shifting them energetically. Immediately, the rods glowed red. The boy dropped them with a yelp as the rods glowed even brighter red, then disintegrated completely. "Blimey," the defeated Weasley said, blowing on his burnt hands.

"Never fear. Stand back, Fred," the other one said grandly. Harry's eyes widened with an idea. He knew how he could prank them. Whispering a spell very quietly, he pointed at the back of Fred's head, before hiding around the corner again.

Archer had taught him a spell to paint an ultraviolet mark on objects, as well as one for revealing those marks, so that they never got lost exploring an underground labyrinth in Syria they had stumbled upon. Archer had admitted that a normal painting spell was easier, but didn't want to ruin the labyrinth experience for other explorers.

Now Fred had a ultraviolet mark on the back of his head, which meant Harry could easily determine the twins' correct identities. The idea for the prank was still forming in his mind as he glanced around the corner, curious to see if they could trump Archer's protections. George waved his wand, and yelled, "Alohomora!" The whole door flashed red, and three spells shot out, knocking George out cold. He fell to the floor.

Fred stood for a few seconds, too startled to act, before he went down on his knees next to his fallen brother. "George, chum. SPEAK to me!" He wailed theatrically, before pulling out his wand and casting a quick Rennervate.

"Mission failed," George groaned. Fred nodded sadly. The twins rushed back to the dorms, and Harry followed at a safe distance.

oOoOo

Harry watched in amusement as the other first years stressed about the upcoming flying class. The Ravenclaws and Puffs had taken it yesterday, and poor Hermione had discovered that Quidditch Through the Ages hadn't helped her with the practical side at all. Some people were just rubbish at flying brooms. Neville had fared even worse, managing to break a wrist after kicking off prematurely and careening into a castle wall, falling stunned to the ground. The horrible school broom, of course, remained intact.

Harry had learned of these mishaps by visiting the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables during breakfast. He then dutifully relayed them to his Gryffindor friends, which hadn't boosted their confidence at all. Harry could tell that even Ron was nervous, though he had probably been flying for years. It showed when he started talking about a broom flight that involved running into hang gliders and a reverse Wronski Feint. Ridiculous. Harry himself was perfectly calm, because he actually had been flying for a couple of years, under Archer's tutelage. Archer wasn't at all fond of Quidditch, given the number of injuries the players usually sustained, even on an amateur level. However, he quickly saw that Harry was a natural on a broom, so he had bought him a trusty little Comet 260, which was currently at the Lighthouse due to the Hogwarts ban on first years having brooms.

Over the past couple of days, the school had gotten used to him having meals at different tables, and now he had friends in three Houses, which was brilliant. The bell finally rang for the end of Transfiguration, breaking his reverie. Harry packed away his book, and was rewarded with an approving smile from Professor McGonagall as he made his exit. He had been the very first to transfigure his matchstick into a needle. Really, all the core wand subjects seemed very easy after learning basic wandless magic under Archer, who turned into a perfectionist when teaching.

As the Gryffindors neared the designated flying pitch, a large grassy courtyard inside the castle, Harry tried to reassure his friends everything would be fine, but they were turning various shades of green, which gave Ron a distinctly Christmassy appearance. There were two rows of brooms on the pitch, lying facing each other. By unspoken consent, the Gryffindors lined up by one row, and the Slytherins, who trickled in more slowly, took the other.

Harry noticed a lot of posturing, and whispered insults flying back and forth. It was rather shocking how a House rivalry could be taken so far in the first week of school, when by rights, the students shouldn't know each other. Did everyone just copy their older siblings?

The whispers died down as Madam Hooch walked up to the pitch. She walked stiffly, and had spiky grey hair and bright yellow eyes. She glanced over the class quickly. "Everyone's standing by a broom? Good. Now stick your right hand over your broom, and say UP!"

Harry followed her instructions frowning as the broom whacked his right palm. It was a nearly worthless task, only a party trick really. It made the broom climb to chest height, which made it awkward to mount. He had figured out that brooms only seemed to respond that way to people who had practice flying, or were naturally talented, which was unfair to a lot of the class. Far better just to pick it up off the ground. Eventually everyone mounted their brooms, while Hooch corrected grips. After that they were told to hover for five minutes. Harry was falling asleep.

Finally, they were allowed to run basic drills, like flying through hoops, allowing them to practice gentle turns and dives. For the last half hour, they were allowed to play a massive game of broom tag.

At the end of class, Madam Hooch called for Harry, Ron, Draco, and two other Slytherins, a boy named Blaise Zabini, and a girl named Lily Moon, to stay behind. "You five are far beyond the others in terms of flying ability," Hooch said, surprising Harry. He hadn't tried to show off any. He stifled a snicker as both Ron and Draco preened, displaying frighteningly similar expressions. Hooch continued, "I suggest you all try out for the house teams next year." Lily gave a delicate snort. It was well known that Slytherin Quidditch Captain Marcus Flint did not allow girls on his team. "I will train you apart from your classmates," Hooch said. "Now, what positions do you want to play?"

"Seeker," Malfoy strutted. The easiest position, from Harry's point of view. It didn't involve any teamwork, and you had a good chance at coming away with more points than all three Chasers.

"Chaser," Moon said tonelessly.

"Chaser," Zabini said.

"K-keeper," Ron stuttered. Harry eyed him appraisingly. Nice long arms. He'd do.

"Chaser," Harry said, and watched the other would be Chasers look at him in surprise. He had basically just volunteered to practise with them.

"Wonderful!" Hooch smiled. "Off you go now. I'll have you all sorted out for the next lesson."

Harry raced back to the common room to continue planning his Weasley twin prank. Hogwarts was turning out to be even better than he had expected.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Here's the next chapter.**

Chapter 8

Fred and George Weasley were in fine form as the sixth week of term started. Aside from random pranks to keep the fear of their Glorious Prankster's Guild fresh in everyone's hearts, they had done the seemingly impossible, and pranked Professor Snape last week, by infusing his pumpkin juice with a potion. They'd never managed this before, as he was cautious to the extreme about what he put in his mouth.

In the end, they couldn't tell if the dour teacher was more furious at the fact that they had tricked the Potion Master with a potion, or that he had sported a curly pink mustache that grew speedily for three days until he had created an antidote. Perhaps best of all though, their buddy Lee Jordan was able to get a wizarding photo of Snape and his rosy whiskers, which was sent off to their older brother Charlie just before Snape could destroy it. The whole escapade was well worth two weeks of detention.

So as they entered the Great Hall for breakfast, they weren't particularly surprised to be the subject of some stares and whispers. Indeed, they were at the top their game, so they strutted slightly as they walked by their Quidditch teammates.

"Oi, Fred!" Angelina Johnson was sitting between Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. They were a talented trio of Chasers, and worked well together. "Come and sit!"

Naturally, it was George Weasley who turned towards them, while Fred aimed for Lee Jordan, sitting further down the table. But they both stopped in their tracks when Alicia called out, "No George, she called for Fred!"

The twins looked at each other, then raced to address the girls. Then began speaking quickly, completing each other's sentences.

"You tried this—once before—and it didn't work." The twins smiled, then continued.

"We look exactly alike. Even our—freckles are identical." In their second year, Lee had used their freckles to tell them apart, and they had researched feverishly until they found a suitable charm to fix the problem.

"Even if you—designated one of us—to be Fred and the other George, the next time—we left your sight you wouldn't be sure—which was which."

"Oh, we're fairly convinced that you're Fred, and you're George." Seventh year student Kenneth Towler said laconically, pointing to Fred and George in turn as he spoke their names. Towler was the Gryffindor seeker and team captain. He had an excellent head for strategy, but he sometimes forgot about the Snitch in his zealotry for coaching.

"We can't—be bluffed that easily." The twins replied with a smirk, and moved towards Lee once more. But they were proved wrong. Throughout the next week, everyone would first look at them oddly, then call Fred and George by their correct names. It was driving them crazy. Their lost identicality had been the crux of many of their greatest pranks, and provided a great deal of of enjoyment at the general chaos it had always caused. And now it was gone, and their failure to return things to normal was driving them crazy.

Throughout the week, Harry watched. He was rather proud of his handiwork. A golden letter 'G' floated above George's head constantly, and a matching red 'F' hovered over Fred. And everyone except the twins could see the letters. (He had Archer show him how to do that.) Harry watched as the twins repeatedly cast 'Finite Incantatem' at each other, not realizing they just had to aim their wands a little higher to end his spell . He heard how Fred got kicked out of Muggle Studies and George out of Divination, and they were hauled back to the classes they had actually signed up for. He laughed every morning as the twins arrived with increasingly weird disguises, in unsuccessful attempts to become indistinguishable from the other, apparently through looking even more different? Harry wasn't quite sure of their reasoning behind that but enjoyed it all the same. In effect, they were pranking themselves. What surprised Harry was that not one student or teacher had told them why they could be told apart. Perhaps the Hogwarts populace was enjoying some laughs at the duo who had created so much fun at their expense.

At any rate, Harry heard that the twins' last straw came in Transfiguration on Friday. Third year Patricia Stimpson had gathered quite a crowd at the Gryffindor table as she retold her experience over supper. "Professor McGonagall was doing roll like normal, and finished with the twins. 'Fredrick Weasley,'" Patricia said, in a passable imitation of the Transfiguration teacher's slight brogue. "'Eyepatches, charmed hair, and fake facial scars are not part of the Hogwarts dress code, except for on Hogsmeade weekends. Nor, George Weasley, is a ski mask and great coat.' Then I swear she smiled—" Disbelieving mutters interrupted her as students tried to reconcile this piece of news with the demeanor of their strict professor.

"—And Fred and George fled the classroom!" She finished.

"No witty retort? No well timed dung-bombs to cover their escape?" Oliver Wood said skeptically, as Patricia shook her head. "This prank must be really getting to them."

"Yeah. I think they've just been moping in the common room all day," Lee said.

Nobody really noticed as Harry excused himself and set off to find the twins. He was feeling slightly guilty for dragging the prank out for so long, and decided now was the time to end it.

By the time it took to get to the portrait of the Fat Lady, who guarded the Gryffindor common room, he had already contrived a plan. He would walk up the stairs to his dorm, look back, and cast a spell that would vanish the floating letters over time, so that the twins couldn't trace the end of the prank to him. Harry had no illusions to what depths of embarrassment he could suffer if the twins were motivated to get revenge.

Unfortunately, his plan failed. Entering the common room, there was Fred dozing on a couch, and George was staring listlessly into space, before turning to see who had entered.

Harry couldn't resist one parting shot. "Hi George," he said with a sneaky smile, then started up the stairs.

George frowned, then glanced back up with an astonished look and leapt towards Harry, dragging him back towards the fireplace. "It was you!" he shouted excitedly. "You're the git who pranked us! Wake up Fred, I've found the culprit!"

"Wha—" Fred tumbled from the couch, then turned towards George, who had Harry in an iron grip, still unsure of how he'd been busted. "You say Harry Potter did it? Did 'e confess?" The twins didn't know Harry all that well, but the face of the boy-who-lived was impossible to mistake.

"He practically did. Harry here gave me the Gagster's Grin. Firstie mistake."

"Oh. Sorry, Harry. Busted!" Fred's satisfied expression now matched George.

"I was just going up to my dorm. Why are you trying to blame someone else's prank on me?" Harry sported a convincingly confused expression. What on earth was the Gagster's Grin?

As if reading his mind, George answered. "Sorry, kid. The Gagster's Grin is a common facial expression often seen by rookie pranksters when addressing their targets in the aftermath of the prank. Our sister Ginny wore it while talking to Ron the day after she convinced Bill to transfigure Ron's Oakshaft 79 into a garden gnome, and watched Ron throw it over the hedge! The Grin got her caught."

"Oh yes, when we were young, and foolish, our faces were practically stuck in the Gagster's Grin," Fred reminisced.

"But we learned better!" George rejoined, shaking his fist theatrically. "The Grin is practically a confession of guilt to those adept at reading expressions, so we cured ourselves of it. Now we only use it during the rare prank that we're not actually responsible for!"

"So are you going to end this, or do we have to make you the sole target of our pranks for the next five years?" Fred threatened.

Harry quickly pointed his wand above the twins' heads, at the floating letters, and repeated, "Finite Incantatem."

As one, the twins buried their faces into their hands. "Stupid of us. We knew it had to be something in our vicinity." Fred said in a muffled voice.

"Yes, we shouldn't have gotten so hung up on our clothes. How could I have thought yesterday that wearing a tutu would solve the problem?" George's horrified question forced Harry to snicker, despite the fact that he was trying to sneak away.

"Bye bye, Ickle Harrikins!" Fred and George shouted out sweetly, stopping him cold. They were now intent on retribution, and he really didn't want that to happen.

"If you prank me, I'll let the whole school know it was I, a mere first year student, who got you so badly," He replied, sweating a little. "And then where will the reputation of the Terrible Twins be?"

It worked, but not how he expected. Fred and George looked thunderstruck, then replied with twinspeak. "The Gagster's Grin?— Blackmail?—Vaguely theatrical statements?—And above all, a most impressive prank? Those are adequate deeds to induct you—into the Glorious Prankster's Guild, Harrikins!"

"Oh no..." Harry muttered faintly.

oOoOo

"Why in the world did you make me prank the twins?" Harry asked Archer later that week, after recounting the tale. He held his thumb to his index finger. "They were this close to making me their favorite pranking target!" He was utterly confused at their quick turnaround to accepting him. They had promised to start showing him the tricks of their trade right after they had set up an initiation ceremony, which was a terrifying prospect.

"Why?" Archer cocked his head. "Well, your father was one of the greatest mischief makers in Hogwarts History, along with some of his friends, so I wondered if you were willing or able to carry on the tradition. It's also widely known that the twins are able to get around the castle with astonishing ease, so any of those tricks you learn now could help you immeasurably over the next seven years."

"You had a TACTICAL reason in mind when you told me to prank them?" Harry was incredulous.

"Well, no. I just made that reason up now," Archer admitted, "but that doesn't make it any less true. Anyways, here's your reward." He reached behind his desk and pulled out a monstrous box of liquorice wands, which he knew Harry loved. "Once you've learned all you can from the twins, report back to me."

"Aye, Aye, Captain." Harry retorted cheekily as he gave his mentor a sloppy salute. He didn't know what Archer was playing at with these 'missions', but the man had evidently decided that normal school was too easy for him.

oOoOo

"Merlin, Potter! You have to pass after Blaise dives. If you always mess up like that you couldn't fool a flobberworm!" Harry listened patiently as Lily Moon reamed him out. It was the third flying class, and he was enjoying himself immensely. In their second class Madam Hooch had immediately pulled the 'advanced group' away to the side, and transfigured some Quidditch poles for them. She gave them a Quaffle and a snitch for Draco, and left them to sort themselves out, moving over to the more novice flyers to referee a game of tag.

Blaise and Lily had frozen Harry out in their first couple of runs at the poles and Ron Weasley. Then he pointed out that they'd never be able to practice any real plays with just two people, and Harry was readily included. Harry actually proved to be the best flyer, and was somewhat ambidextrous, so they quickly shuttled him into the lead Chaser position. Moon and Zabini, however, were much more familiar with standard chaser plays, which gave him an extreme disadvantage, and put him in his current predicament.

"You're right. In that scenario, I would far be more interested in what a flobberworm was doing riding a broom." Harry replied glibly.

"Relax, Lily. It's only the second time we've tried this play." Blaise had flown over to help settle Moon down. The relative amiability of the two Slytherin first years made Harry wonder exactly how much of the aloofness they showed during their second practice was their own personalities and how much was peer pressure.

"Let's stop wasting time and try it again." Harry looked over at Ron, who was impatiently pounding a fist into his palm. "I think Weasley's getting a little too cocky."

"We can't have that." Lily deftly caught the Quaffle as the trio moved into action, swerving around a crowing Draco who'd just caught the Snitch. "Try not to mess up this time, Potter."

oOoOo

Harry was considerably less excited about the Halloween feast than any of his peers. It was, after all, the anniversary of the date on which Voldemort had murdered his parents. He would have preferred to sit with the Hufflepuffs that night, who wouldn't bother him if he was in a lousy mood, or even better, skip the feast altogether. Unfortunately, attendance was compulsory for Hogwarts feasts, and students had to sit at their own house tables.

Even in his misery, he had to admire the pains the staff had taken in decorating the great hall. Gigantic pumpkins (grown by Hagrid) floated around, leering at the students with truly frightful visages which Flitwick had carved and then charmed to make them gnash their pumpkin teeth. Thousands of bats flew about with carefree ease, squeaking quietly. And the ghosts of Hogwarts were out in full force, numbering hundreds, far more than Harry had realized made the castle their home. As everyone settled down and the Headmaster said a few words, the feast appeared. Harry ate a little, but the meal was interrupted when Professor Quirrell ran into the hall, looking even more panicked than he usually did. His clothes were rumpled and his turban in danger of falling off.

"TROLL in the dungeons." he yelled at Dumbledore. "Thought you ought to know." He mumbled, then dropped into a faint.

As screams and yells broke out and pandemonium ensued, Harry fought his way over to the twins, who, quite naturally, were adding to the chaos. George was gleefully lobbing Dungbombs, while Fred busied himself by setting off Filibuster's Fireworks (did they carry those everywhere?).

"Guys," he hissed, and they paused in their troublemaking, "what about Malfoy?"

"Bloody hell," George muttered, and Fred whisked them out of the Great Hall while Dumbledore was still calling everyone to order.

Some weeks ago, after an utterly ridiculous initiation ceremony, the twins had pumped him for pranking ideas, and he reluctantly informed them that Draco always kept his hair gel on his person, and reapplied it regularly. Malfoy hadn't been that nasty to Harry, but he felt that as the poster boy for pureblood ideology, Draco could always use some humility. At any rate, it would be a simple matter to swap the gel for something more amusing.

The twins had finally taken his advice this morning, and knew that Draco was still in a bathroom in the dungeons, refusing to come out until he figured out how to change his hair back from the dreadlocks it had somehow become. Now a troll was in the dungeons, which made the twins and Harry responsible for any thing that happened to Malfoy. And as per their idiotic Gryffindorish tendencies, they were honor bound to go and rescue him.

"That's a very interesting smell," Fred remarked, halting his companions at the edge of a corner. "Could that be Malfoy or the troll?"

Harry sniffed, and then blanched. Interesting was an understatement. He imagined it was worse than the stench of a rotting body. Just then the ground shook. All three boys peeked around the corner, and watched as the troll—a gigantic grey lump in a humanoid shape—trudged into a bathroom dragging a club the size of a tree trunk behind it. They heard a bloodcurdling scream from the bathroom.

"Good guess, Freddie," said George nervously. "It's Malfoy AND the troll."

They rushed into the bathroom, to see the troll crushing stalls and smashing sinks, getting slowly closer to Malfoy, who was holding his wand out in front of him, as he tried to back his way through the solid stone corner that left him nowhere to run.

"Stupefy!" yelled George and Fred simultaneously. Unfortunately, they forgot how spell resistant troll hide is. The spells actually bounced off its skin, and came straight back. Harry managed to dodge one, but the other knocked Fred out cold. Harry didn't know what to do. As a first year, offensive spells, particularly of the troll-beating variety, were distinctly lacking in the syllabus.

"Err… Defodio!" George yelled again, and the spell actually managed to pierce through the troll hide, and a tiny trickle of greenish blood made its way down the monster's grotesque back.

Enraged, the troll charged towards Draco, lifting his club over his head for a downwards stroke that would surely pulverize the Slytherin.

"Accio club" Harry screamed, and the troll stopped, managing to hold on as the club struggled to get free. Harry gasped as he felt his magic draining, and a short game of tug-of-war ensued. Draco was too frightened to use the distraction to escape, and just watched. Harry felt himself blacking out as he maintained the spell, but the strain faded as he saw a black knife fly past him, sinking into the base of the troll's skull. He slumped over, unconscious, just as he saw the gigantic club flying towards him.

oOoOo

"Silence!" Dumbledore yelled, as Archer ran past the cowardly defense teacher, still slumped on the floor. What an example Quirrell was, he thought disgustedly. But who could have let the troll in? The only way to get a troll into Hogwarts grounds without the wards notifying Dumbledore would be through a very cleverly made portkey, or the creation of a portal, and the spells for those were almost obsolete after the discovery of Apparition two hundred odd years back. Yes, the very method of entry for the troll narrowed the list of suspects to a handful of wizards in the world. Which probably meant there was something bigger at play than frightening students and bothering teachers. Trolls were no match for Albus Dumbledore. Blast! The stone!

Archer halted at the top of the stairs to the dungeons and turned to Snape, who was gliding towards him. "Protect the Stone, Severus." Snape raised an eyebrow. "Please," Archer pressed. "The troll could be a diversion. I'll take care of it."

Snape nodded, and turned towards the Grand Staircase, while Archer resumed his hunt for the troll.

"Ugh. That smell. I'm getting closer," Archer said a few minutes later, as he raced around a corner.

"Defodio!" he heard a shaky voice further down the hall, and then there was a great roar. It was in the bathroom! And a student was there too. Dear Merlin!

"Accio club!" Blast. That was Harry's voice.

Entering the bathroom, he sized up the situation quickly. He would have to act fast, or Harry could seriously damage his magical core. Conjuring a throwing knife, he flung it at the troll, killing it instantly. Ignoring a Weasley's gaping mouth, he ran past Harry, plucked the club out of midair, and swung with all of his might at the troll, who was about to crush Draco with its dead body. The blow moved the troll significantly, but not quite enough. Draco screamed as the long arm of the troll flailed into his ribcage, and the dull crack of breaking bones was heard. Then all was silent.

OoOoO

**Please review! Maybe tell me what you think about how the story is coming along. **


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

When Harry woke up, he was alone. No twins, no Draco, no troll, thank goodness. He was lying on a soft bed. The bed was surrounded by a blue curtain, which hung on thin rods that appeared to be floating. As the last vestiges of sleep left him, questions immediately arose. What day was it? What had happened after he blacked out? Was everyone alright? And who threw the knife? He sat up, feeling no pain, only a vague sense of weariness.

As his bare feet touched the floor, the curtain was shoved aside, and Archer ducked through, followed a minute later by Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. Pomfrey was a short witch with a round face and a stern expression that didn't faze Harry much. She would look positively chummy next to Snape.

"Drink this, dear," she said in a voice that brooked no argument. She handed him a flask filled with a pale blue liquid that tasted absolutely revolting.

"I set up a trip ward at floor level," Archer said somewhat randomly. Then Harry realised he was explaining how they had arrived so fast after he awoke.

Pomfrey waved her wand over Harry's body, and shook her head, before addressing him again. "Now remember, you're not allowed to perform any magic, for at least twelve hours." She made encouraging noises as Harry downed the last of the flask with a grimace. Pomfrey continued her lecture. "Severe magical exhaustion at such a young age can be extremely dangerous. You're staying?" she turned to Archer.

He nodded. "Any new information he might provide on how the troll entered the dungeons would be welcome."

She sniffed, then left, with a final warning for Harry against casting spells.

As the curtains stopped swaying, Archer moved closer and hugged Harry. "I'm glad you're okay, idiot!" He grinned affectionately and stepped back to mess with his hair. "Why on earth would you try take its club? Even if you succeeded, you would be hard pressed to avoid getting knocked out by it. Furthermore, the troll could have crushed you all just as easily with its fists."

"It was all I could think of to save Draco," Harry defended himself. "Given my limitations as a first year, what would you have done?"

"Hmm. We've been in some scrapes before, you and I. However, this was the first time you really realized the danger you were in, and so weren't thinking straight," Archer mused. "Given those limitations, I'd probably do the same or something even more stupid, like running up the troll's back and sticking my wand in its nose." He gestured for Harry to sit back, as he had risen triumphantly at this confession. "However, a much smarter alternative would be to Accio Draco, and then get out of there." Harry nodded thoughtfully, and Archer spoke again. "Everyone's fine, though Draco is in the infirmary as well. It was a bit of a close call with him. The troll crushed his ribcage, and he could have suffocated."

"Did you throw the knife?" Harry asked.

"Yes." Archer rubbed his jaw. "Killed the troll. Pity, really, as they are bordering on endangered. There are better ways to deal with trolls, but none so quick."

"You never told me you could throw knives." Harry was impressed.

"You never asked. It's more of a party trick, really."

"Is every party trick you know capable of killing a troll?"

"Err…" Archer reared back from the bed. Then he laughed. "No, just most of them. I've got to work, kid. Do try and stay out of trouble." He left hurriedly.

"Huh." Harry couldn't tell if Archer had been joking. He quickly found his normal clothes by the side of the bed and changed from the fuzzy blue pajamas he had been wearing. Harry was rather interested to see how far the twins had exaggerated the adventure. Walking swiftly to the hospital wing's exit, he saw another cordoned off section of blue curtain. If he had gone to all that trouble to help save Draco, he might as well see how the Slytherin was doing. Peeking in, Draco was lying motionless on a bed, facing him. His torso was wrapped heavily in bandages. He shifted suddenly, and Harry heard a slight gasp of pain at the movement.

"Potter. Admiring your handiwork?" Draco's grey eyes snapped open, studying the intruder. His voice had a slight rasp and lacked it's usual sneering tone.

"Not at all. If you believe me to be the monster who smashed your ribs, then maybe that dreadlocks gel had the side effect of making you delirious. Why didn't you run when I distracted the troll?"

"I couldn't. Maybe Gryffindors train to keep a clear head around trolls. I expect the smell doesn't bother you as much. Slytherins prefer to not be in those situations in the first place. Or, alternatively, to be the ones setting the trolls on others."

"What makes you think some older Slytherins didn't do just that? Manipulate the whole situation to get rid us. A fine quartet we made, too. The Weasley twins who constantly embarrass your house by pranks, the Boy-Who-Lived, who's bound to end up an antagonist due to opposing viewpoints, and you, who is a threat in your obvious attempt to eventually gain leadership of Slytherin House." Harry honestly didn't think the troll had much to do with any Slytherins, but sometimes he just liked to argue.

Draco thought that over. "That almost makes sense, but no Slytherin would attempt that and risk my father's wrath."

Harry sighed. "You've got to stop mentioning your father, Draco. Constantly reminding everyone of your father's accomplishments does nothing to help you long term. You would have much more power if you gained control of the House through your own merits, with Lord Malfoy's influence at the back of your housemate's minds."

Draco stared at him. "You don't sound at all like a Gryffindor," he said.

"Thanks, I think. Get well eventually." Harry departed, wondering at their almost civil conversation.

OoOoO

"And there we were. One troll was holding Draco by his dreadlocks, and the other was dangling Harry by his legs. They both raised their clubs, preparing to swing and knock both their heads off at once!" The twins had gathered a throng of Gryffindors in the Common Room as they embellished the tale. "We weren't sure whether we could save both firsties."

"Not that hard of a choice, I presume?" Lee Jordan interrupted. The crowd laughed.

"We were terribly uncertain who to chose," George replied, and the crowd leaned in a little. "We like Harry better, but Draco is a much easier target for pranks. On the spur of the moment, Fred shoved a pair of Filibuster's Fireworks right up the nostrils of Draco's troll and set them off. The monster bellowed in pain and dropped Draco. Then the other troll dropped Harry and relieved his buddy of a Firework, sticking it up his own nose." Fred paused and mimed the action as the audience roared. "We all managed to get out safely, but Harry and Draco were put in the hospital wing from injuries when they were dropped. The end." The crowd dispersed with much laughter.

"Hail, mighty troll vanquishers." Fred and George jumped before turning to Harry, who had whispered in their ears after sneaking up on them. "Interesting. I can't recall Halloween happening quite like that. I must have missed the second troll."

"Rumors were already starting, Harry. We decided to put our own spin on things. Besides, Mr. Latham saving the day makes for a drab story, and one far too believable. Much more exciting if the intrepid students confront the troll and are victorious. Anyways, we are glad to see that you're up."

"Thanks." Harry paused, then groaned as he remembered his schedule. "I should have stayed in bed. Maybe I could have skipped Potions."

OoOoO

Archer sat in a warm corner of the Three Broomsticks, musing over a mug of gillywater. He was still frustrated over his lack of insight at who could have let the troll into the castle. Few things puzzled him, and the ones that did were generally significant. He reviewed the problems to both options he had considered. The problem with the first, was that only a portkey made by Dumbledore, or through the use of a drop of the headmaster's blood would penetrate the castle's defenses. Good luck with that

Making a Portal was just as tough. The culprit would need knowledge of an ancient spell, a great deal of skill, and to be physically present inside Hogwarts to make that work. Portal, portkey. Couldn't spell crafters think up somewhat original names for their inventions? His thoughts went around in circles as he took another sip.

Crack! A shoddily dressed house elf appeared on the table, startling him. "Mr. Archer Latham," it squeaked, bowing energetically. "Lord Master Lucius Malfoy wishes to thanks Mister for saving little Master Draco, and extends an invitation to dine at Malfoy Manor, at the seventh hour the following evening." It stopped midbow. It was waiting for a reply, Archer realized.

"I accept your master's gracious invitation," he managed to choke out, and the house elf bowed again and left. What was Lucius Malfoy playing at? He was one of the richest men in Magical Britain, and probably the most powerful and influential. He was reportedly cunning and ruthless, and a 'reformed' Death Eater. In summary, he was the quintessential Slytherin. He did not invite just anyone to dine with him, and Archer had worked hard to make sure that only a few, innocuous facts were known about himself, such as being American, and a teacher.

Frowning, he left a handful of sickles on the table along with the now empty mug. Maybe Albus had some helpful insight. Archer slipped out the tavern door, eliciting a chorus of half-hearted grumbles from those inside as cold air blasted in for a second.

Walking slowly towards the castle, Archer was lost in thought, looking at the thin patches of snow for inspiration. He never noticed the blurry patch of air behind him advancing slowly. And almost died.

It was a close thing. His keen ears, which picked up the sound of something rushing through the air, plus the leather armor he had taken to wearing since the troll incident saved him. Turning halfway at the sound, Archer gasped as a floating hand holding a knife slashed across his back, leaving a long, shallow cut. He turned his momentum into a powerful spinning kick, and a man appeared, stumbling backwards as an invisibility cloak fluttered to the ground. The assassin reached across his body for a wand holstered at his side, but Archer leapt forwards, breaking his assailant's wrist against the hard surface of the man's own hip. The assassin cried out, and stabbed with lighting speed at Archer using the knife he still carried his other hand. Archer leaned until his back was nearly parallel to the ground to dodge the blade, and caught the man's hand as the knife swept over him. Twisting, Archer flung the man over his shoulder and slammed the knife hilt deep into the cold ground. He hammered his opponent with an elbow to the forehead as the assassin fell to the earth, instantly unconscious.

Archer took a deep breath, then walked over to the man. He was slightly short, with a round nose, and shaggy golden hair. Checking his pulse, Archer found a steady heartbeat, but the man most likely had a concussion. He found no portkeys or magical artifacts on the man, but there was a case of very interesting potions.

Walking over to the knife, he pulled it out of the ground. It was a Goblin blade, but that didn't mean anything. Goblins were willing to sell almost anyone their weapons as long as they paid an indecent amount of Galleons for them. He cleaned the knife and stored it away. It was valuable, and maybe Gringotts could tell him who they had sold this particular piece to.

"Incarcerous. Ennervate." Archer took out his wand and magically tied the assassin up, and then woke him. The man hardly struggled and looked around in a daze.

"Okay, Goldilocks. What's the price on my head?" Archer bent down next to the man and waited for an answer.

"Tre hunnerd tousand galleons dead. Million alive," Goldilocks said thickly, eyes crossed. Blast. That meant every crook, from the best assassins, to dumb thugs with big dreams, would be looking for him. Just as he was about to ask another question, the assassin's eyes focused on Archer, and his expression grew terrified. There was a crack as he bit down on a fake tooth, cried out, then grew still.

"Poison," Archer guessed, then retrieved the invisibility cloak and draped it over Goldilocks. Levitating the now invisible assassin, he stumbled forward in a fit of dizziness, and finally noticed blood dripping onto the ground from his back wound. It was quite a lot of blood, he observed in a detached way.

"Fawkes," he murmured as he slumped to the ground, hoping the phoenix would answer his call. Normally he would close the wound himself, but assassins often coated their blades in poison, so he couldn't take any chances. In a flash of flame, Fawkes appeared in front of him, and landed on his shoulders. Bending over, the magical bird let tears fall onto the shallow wound, crooning softly as it healed him.

"Thank you." Archer got up and walked over to where Goldilocks lay under the cloak. Grabbing the body, he asked Fawkes, "Could you perhaps.…" The phoenix flew in front of him, and he just managed to grab a tail feather as it transported everyone back to the headmaster's office.

"Latham." Dumbledore moved from behind his desk and approached the man, gesturing at his blood-drenched back. "What happened?"

"A bit of my past caught up to me. Fawkes healed me, though."

"I thought you had succeeded in leaving your past behind you."

"So did I until some weeks ago. This assassin tried to kill me." Archer pulled the cloak from the body.

"Oh, my." Albus swept his wand over the body. He frowned. "Broken wrist, mild brain trauma, but more importantly, his heart seems to have been dissolved away almost completely." He frowned. "Did you kill him?"

"NO!" Archer yelled. "I captured him, and was asking him questions, when he focused on my face, turned pasty white, and committed suicide. Some sort of poisonous capsule in his mouth."

Dumbledore summoned a house-elf and ordered it to bury Goldilocks. "I wasn't aware your reputation was that terrifying."

"Neither was I. For the entirety of my life, I've done my best to avoid having a reputation. Blast. I'll need to move out of Hogwarts, Albus. Maybe to Hogsmeade. There will be more of these assassins after me. Huge price on my head." Archer rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"And why is there a price on your head? Did you do anything… Dark?"

"Far from it. Fifteen years ago, some friends from the American Department of Magical Law Enforcement heard rumours about a small group in Connecticut running a Unicorn trafficking operation. They were reportedly hunting down Unicorns, breeding them, butchering the old ones and selling their parts on the black market as Potions ingredients. You probably know the drill, it's happened here in Britain before. The DMLE were shorthanded, so they asked me to infiltrate, see whether it was true. So I agreed. It turns out that small op was one leg of a nationwide syndicate that trafficked thousands of Unicorns and was worth well over a billion Galleons a year. It took me two long years to get close to the ringleaders, who were complicit with some of the richest and most well respected men in American magical society. I finally managed to help bring the entire gig down, save for a couple of those rich guys, who naturally became very angry and have been trying to find me to exact some revenge."

"That's quite a story."

"Yes, one to tell the grandchildren, I suppose. That's not important, though. I can't stay in Hogwarts anymore. It would endanger the children far more than even having the stone here does."

"Might I suggest the Shrieking Shack? Technically it is Hogwarts property. The house-elves could easily clean it up, make it a more than livable dwelling place."

"Thank you. Hopefully I can move within the week. However, there's something else I would appreciate your input on, quite possibly as important as my little 'hunted by assassins' problem."

Albus's eyes twinkled. "Something else? You do realize most professors come to me with the harrowing tales of their students' academic or behavioural successes and failures. Nevertheless, I'll struggle to stay awake for your sake."

Archer grinned. "How kind of you. Well, I was sitting at the Three Broomsticks, when a house elf appeared with a missive from Lucius Malfoy."

"Indeed." Albus didn't seem surprised, but he leaned forwards. "Go on."

"Lord Malfoy has invited me to dine at his Manor tomorrow evening, and I accepted. It's possible he did it to thank me for saving his son's life."

"Possible?" Dumbledore seemed confused by the adjective. "That would seem to be the only reason."

"Blast it, Albus. You know what I mean. What should he know about me? Only that I'm a half-blood, an American, a teacher, and I managed to kill a troll and save his son. As a British pureblooded politician, none of the first three pieces of information would endear me to him. By rights, he should have just sent me some nice little gift, told his son to be more careful and then forgotten about me. He's got to have some other motive."

"And I'm sure he does." The headmaster made his hands into a steeple, then rested his hands on them. "Whatever the case, I cannot help you. The mind of such a Slytherin works in different ways than mine does. I can only offer you luck and congratulate you on accepting the offer. If you had shunned his request, he could have made life…" Dumbledore paused as he looked at the rumpled invisibility cloak still lying on the floor, "... even more difficult for you than it already is."

"No kidding. Well, thanks for this discussion. I need to get to Diagon Alley. I suddenly find I have a need for dress robes." Archer wrinkled his nose. He had long prided himself on not owning any dress robes.

"That sounds like a good decision." Albus snapped his fingers and the doorway leading out of his office opened. "I half believed you were planning to show up at Malfoy Manor in your leathers."

Archer laughed. "Oh, ye of little faith."

OoOoO

**A/N: It was fun writing about a bit of Archer's past. Please review**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Archer jumped off the Knight Bus as it stopped with a loud bang outside Malfoy Manor. The Knight Bus was one of the many methods of transportation for wizards, and while its principal purpose was to help stranded witches and wizards along their way, Archer used it because he had no clue where Malfoy Manor was, so he couldn't simply Apparate.

Archer set down the package he was carrying, and carefully brushed himself off, grimacing at his fashionably cut robes. They were a deep emerald with gold trim, and hideously expensive. Unfortunately, his new robes were the price he had to pay to avoid being immediately dismissed as uncouth by Malfoy. Retrieving the package, he wound his way through an impressive garden to the Manor.

Malfoy Manor was, in a word, grandiose. Its shining exterior showed French Baroque influences, in places reminding Archer of the Palace of Versailles. The central building rose four stories, and was connected to its eastern and western wings by what appeared to be narrow courtyards.

Archer walked briskly forwards and studied the front door. It was a huge oaken affair with silver designs inlaid into the black wood. Above it were large silver words displaying the family motto, 'Nulla alia Melior.' Archer snorted. It appeared the Malfoys had always been a bunch of braggarts.

Archer took out his wand and touched the heavy silver door knocker with it. He heard no noise, but the door was opened in a short time by the aristocratic looking Lucius Malfoy. The man was dressed in silken black robes, contrasted by his white blond hair which fell neatly past his shoulders. The fine dragon-scale gloves he wore grasped a short cane topped with a silver sculpted snake head.

"Lord Malfoy." Archer swept into a half-bow, one arm clutched to his chest with the parcel, the other gracefully flung to the side. With a flourish he presented the parcel. "American Fire whiskey," He explained, "created by master brewers Stotts and Grilf. This particular case is over two hundred years old." Archer still wondered at the reasons behind his invitation, and knew that being polite would facilitate answers much faster than the 'you're an evil Slytherin Death Eater, etc.' line he was sure Malfoy received at times.

"Thank you, Mr Latham." Malfoy said in a surprised tone, glancing at Archer's robes. He paused. "Dobby." He commanded, and carelessly dropped the present. With a crack the house-elf appeared, caught the parcel, and disappeared once more. "Do come in." He invited, and Archer felt the wards, previously hostile, become more accommodating.

Malfoy led him down the very long main hallway, which had smaller hallways and the occasional stairway leading off from it. As the portraits of Malfoy's ancestors sneered down at him from the walls, Archer wondered what a family of three could do with so many rooms, especially given that house-elves take up a great deal less living space than the human staff that rich non-magical lords use to run similar manors. Lucius ushered him through one of the many doors, and Archer found himself in a small sitting room. Two armchairs sat facing each other next to a roaring fireplace, and a small table rested between the chairs. Bookshelves lined the walls. As Archer was still looking around the room, a door opened to his left, and Lady Narcissa Malfoy nee Black entered. She was exquisitely beautiful, a face marred only by utter lack of emotion it revealed. Not pausing for a moment, she swept towards him. Lucius's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Lady Malfoy." Archer said, kissing the back of her hand.

"Thank you." She said softly, woodenly, although Archer could detect some emotion in her eyes. "Thank you, for saving my son."

"As a teacher, it was only my duty." He replied, as Lucius shifted slightly. Archer grinned inwardly. Whatever the wizard had planned for Archer, meeting Narcissa was no part of it.

"Have I seen you before?" She asked, confusing him with the rapid change of topic.

"It is possible."

"I have! You attend the open Wizengamot sessions. Strange behavior for an American." She spoke a little snidely, and Lucius turned his gaze to his guest.

"It is important to me that I attempt to understand how the government that I now live under works." Archer replied, somewhat pompously, then paused as Malfoy shifted again. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance Lady, but I fear I am digressing from whatever conversation your Lord called me here for."

"Goodbye, then," She said, not unkindly, and left.

"Please, sit." Lucius intoned, and settled into the untaken chair. Immediately, a number of drinks and delicacies appeared on the table. "I, too, wish to thank you for slaying the troll and saving Draco, although I must frown at your methods."

In other words, thought Archer dryly, good job old chap, but rather kill the troll with a spell, don't do it the filthy muggle way. "I have found that sometimes non-magical means can be more expedient. Only the most Unforgivable spell could have killed the troll more quickly." Archer disagreed carefully, though he argued further in his head, thinking back to the previous day. If he'd defended himself with spells, he might have killed or injured the assassin and failed to get any answers out of him at all.

"An interesting viewpoint." Lucius didn't look at all interested, but changed the topic. "To be blunt, I have called you here because I am afraid that your actions may have invoked a Wizards Life Debt in regards to Draco. Have you heard of such Debts?"

"I have, though they seem more rare than they ought to be." Archer's mind was racing at the implications of what Lucius had said. "And you wish to discuss terms of payment so that-"

"-Draco does not find himself unwittingly bound to serve you." Lucius paused. "There is a spell that, among other things, is able to reveal whether Magic has forged the Debt." Lucius glanced quickly at Archer. "However, it is unfortunately classified as dark magic by the Ministry."

"That is unfortunate. In America it would be perfectly legal." Archer agreed in a disappointed voice. The two men stared across the table, taking each others measure. They were playing a dangerous game, and both well knew it. He slowly took out his wand. "Ostendere Vinculum!" He cried, and gave a his wand a small upwards flick. A small golden thread appeared above his head, and stopped above Lucius. A much thicker one headed in the direction of Hogwarts and Draco.

"So." Malfoy intoned. "There is a Life Debt."

"Fascinating." murmured Archer, then explained as Lucius gave him a sharp glance. "Apologies. As a teacher, this all very interesting to me on an academic level. Now what happens?"

"That is largely your choice." Malfoy replied evenly. "We must now come to an Accord over an agreeable payment for the debt."

"And could I not just cancel the debt without such payment?" Archer asked.

"Impossible!" Malfoy spat. "The payment must equal how deeply Draco's life is valued. And I do not think my son is so worthless!" He took two heavy breaths before he regained his composure.

"I apologize, Lord Malfoy." Archer said formally. "I did not intend to insult."

"Finally, your American ignorance reveals itself." Lucius sneered, but nodded in acceptance of the apology. "Historically, one common payment was gold or valuables." He suggested hopefully.

Archer shook his head. "I'm not really short on money."

"Indeed?" Malfoy mused. "That is not true for many teachers. In any case, another traditional form of settlement would be to press Draco into a year of service to you." His voice remained neutral, but his eyes expressed his displeasure at the idea.

"Child slavery?" Archer wrinkled his nose. "No, that's not really my style. Perhaps a better alternative would involve you swearing an Unbreakable Vow to grant one favor, within reason, at my request."

Lucius's eyes narrowed again. "That is a dangerous option, for all the uncertainty it holds."

"Let me make it a little less uncertain." Archer handed him a short scroll.

"You knew of the Debt?" Malfoy asked as he read the scroll.

"No, but in situations like that, there is always a small chance one is created. Your invitation made me see it as a little more probable. I prepared that scroll in hopes that we might not have to haggle all day."

"It is acceptable." Malfoy gave a defeated sigh. "Dobby!" he shouted, and the house elf appeared. "Inform my wife that her presence is required here, immediately, if possible." Dobby left, and Lucius turned back to Archer. "She shall be Bonder."

"Lucius?" Narcissa entered, and was explained the situation. Lucius and Archer grasped each others right forearms. Narcissa paused

"Now, Narcissa." Lucius' tone was hard.

The Lady Malfoy slowly rested her wand on their arms, and golden threads of light immediately appeared, slowly circling the clasped arms.

"In settlement of the life debt owed Archer Latham by Draco Malfoy, do you, Lucius Malfoy, agree to …" She read through the scroll Archer had given Lucius, pausing at the correct intervals for the men to agree to the stipulations of the favor. "... So mote it be." Narcissa finished, her face pale and pinched at the magic she had expended. She fled the room.

"I'm glad that such a delicate situation has ended well." Archer said, very much relieved that the whole process was over. "Is there other business we must discuss?"

"No." Lucius rose gracefully. "Severus talked to me about you, although he did not lead me to expect your good manners."

"The American magical populace contains very few of noble blood, but many have not forgotten the Old Forms." Archer replied smoothly as they exited the sitting room and made their way down the long hallway.

"So it would seem." Lucius opened the great door, and ushered him out. "Should you ever wish to call in my favor, simply call Dobby's name. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Lord Malfoy." Archer bowed once more, and disappeared.

Lucius closed the door, and Narcissa appeared at his side.

"An interesting man." She remarked.

"Indeed." Lucius threw back his head in thought. "According to Severus, what past he has spoken of cannot be confirmed, and he appears to have no discernible agenda."

"Maybe he just likes to play the game?" Narcissa suggested.

"Do not be flippant, my dear." Lucius raised his eyebrows in annoyance. "Everyone wants something. His demand for a favor suggests great political aspirations."

"As an American? In Britain?" Narcissa scoffed. "He would be very hard pressed to get a job at the Ministry, much less a chair on the Wizengamot."

"I agree. Surely he knows that too." Lucius rubbed his left arm absently. "Normally I would not bother myself with the mundane doings of an assistant professor, but now I owe him a Favor. He will bear watching."

OoOoO

Harry had been rather surprised when Draco sat next to him in Potions, the first class with Slytherins Harry had since the troll incident. Potions was not his favorite class, but Harry's potions were generally excellent due to hard work. In what amounted to some twisted game, Snape pushed him farharder than his classmates, and Harry frantically tried to keep up, spending many more hours studying potions than his other subjects. Snape got away with this because his house mates did their best to mind their own business, make an decent potion, and not attract Snape's gaze.

Unfortunately, he still had to deal with the malicious attentions of the more petty Slytherins, of which Draco had often been the ringleader. Harrywas convinced that Draco's new seating choice was merely a more overt attempt at sabotaging his potions than the usual tries.

However, that day Draco tried nothing, and none of his house-mates did either. Snape had directed the class to create the Babbling Beverage, and passed Harry a note ordering him to attempt the Babbling Beverage's more complex antidote. Half an hour later, Draco nearly startled Harry into slicing his hand instead of the mallow sweet when he whispered, "That doesn't look like the Babbling Beverage."

"It's not." Harry replied shortly, looking furtively around, and was glad to see that Snape was currently on the other side of the room breathing down Ron's neck. "It's the antidote. Professor Snape told me to make it."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he fiddled with some flux weed seeds. "And why would he do that?"

"I don't know." Harry mused as he dropped the mallow sweet into his cauldron and gave three clockwise turns with is ladle, and was pleased to see that the potion's color changed from purple to a light gamboge, as the potion manual described. "Remember the very first class we had, when I answered that question right?" Draco nodded. "Ever since then I think he's trying to see how far ahead of the curriculum he can push me before I fail. Why are you so chatty?" Harry asked, a little rudely, "Aren't you worried that your buddies will think I'm corrupting you with my Gryffindorish ways?"

Draco gave a toothy smile. "I'll just tell them that I am the one doing corrupting."

"Fair enough." Harry agreed. "A Slytherin having the ear of the Boy-Who-Lived is bound to impress your friends, especially if you tell them you can swing me a couple degrees towards the Conservatives before I make my debut in the Wizengamot."

Luckily, Harry thought, wandless magic wasn't the only thing Archer had taught him. The many hours of learning about British Wizarding culture, customs, and politics had gyrated between fun, interesting, and mind numbingly boring, but seemed to pay off by every time he talked to purebloods.

Draco gave him a strange look, then shook his head. "Potter, you are wasted in Gryffindor." He stated, respect tinging his voice.

"I don't know," Harry disagreed. "The hat put me exactly where I needed to go."

Draco blinked as he threw a dash of sea salt in to calm his mixture, which was bubbling rapidly. "What do you mean?"

Harry paused. "Think about it rationally. If I get sorted into Slytherin, people might start to wonder how the Dark Lord affected me, or decide that only a greater Dark Lord could have defeated him. I could definitely do without that sort of scrutiny. I am capable of loyalty and working hard, but those traits are not integral enough for the hat to even consider putting me in Hufflepuff. As for Ravenclaw..." Harry fumbled for words.

"...They make wonderful clerks." Draco finished snarkily.

"Since I'm in Gryffindor, people will expect a brave hero, who never looks before he leaps, which seems constituent with my reputation."

"You seem much more preoccupied with your reputation than your potion, Mr. Potter." Harry froze as Snape's silky voice was heard behind him

"My potion is done sir." He replied weakly, then widened his eyes in astonishment as Draco mouthed 'sorry' at him before turning back to his concoction.

"Stay after class, Mr. Potter." Harry slumped his shoulders but nodded in agreement.

A while later, Harry watched as the Gryffindor and Slytherin classes filed out, giving him sympathetic glances and smug looks, respectively, though Draco was impassive.

"Mr. Potter." Harry turned to his dour faced teacher. "What exactly were you discussing with Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry couldn't resist. "I was corrupting him with my Gryffindorish ways, sir."

"One point from Gryffindor for cheek." Snape held up a small bottle filled with an aquamarine colored substance labeled, rather sloppily, 'Babbling Beverage antidote: Harry Potter'. "Now, you claim to have successfully made the antidote to the Babbling Beverage."

"Yes sir." Harry replied proudly. "It has the right color for the finished product, and it's impossible to magically alter the appearance of potions."

"In that case, I'm sure you wouldn't object to testing it's effectiveness?"

"What?" Harry asked, although he had a good idea what his teacher was getting at."

"Miss Greengrass," Snape drawled, while picking up a different colored vial with a much neater label, "produced the best potion in today's class. Drink this, and we'll see if yours works."

"Okay." Harry said stubbornly, then he grabbed the bottle, opened it, and guzzled the contents, which, in the manner of most potions, had a nauseating odor and a worse taste. He was pretty sure Snape wouldn't go so far as to poison him.

"Speak, Mr. Potter." his professor ordered

"Cha xip?" Harry tried speaking, then continued, childishly delighted with the gibberish hie was spouting. "Tidlezvem? Waaikijf-" Snape interrupted him.

"- Do be quiet, Mr. Potter. Now, try your antidote."

Harry quickly downed his own, equally disgusting, mixture without speaking further in case Snape decided to take points away from him for something like 'failing to speak English'. "Did it work?" Harry asked, answering his own question.

"Acceptable work, Mr. Potter." Snape choked out, then ushered his least favorite student to the door before closing it. He spent a long time staring at the two empty bottles on the table as Harry's retreating footsteps grew softer.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Next chapter's up, finally! Enjoy!**

**Adenoide:** As per what Rowling wrote, Snape is a brilliant potions master but a petty bully with a special grudge against Harry. Thank you!

**Bubadictator: **Thank you! I've never tried writing romance before, and I'm not sure how good I would do at it, so probably not. That being said, I'm mostly just making this story up as I go along, with a very faint idea of where it's headed, so we'll see.

Chapter 11

Kyle Vinkof stood cloaked in shadow, and thought about his past as he waited. He was born a half-blood under the Russian Magical Federation, which at that time was still reeling in the aftermath of Grindelwald's war. Vinkof had passed quietly through Durmstrang, and became a celebrated hit wizard for the RMF, working ten years before falling out with the magical government and rising through the ranks of the muggle counter-intelligence bureau known as the KGB. Disenchanted with both organizations, he decided to use his skills to pursue wealth as an assassin, taking jobs from both muggles and wizards. He liked to think he was an equal opportunity hitman.

Business was slow, however. Kyle found that getting the pricier jobs required knowing the right people, largely a close-knit circle of wealthy patrons who didn't like new friends, so he scraped by on cheap jobs that never truly tested his skills. However, one day a letter arrived, borne by a nondescript brown owl. The message read:

**Assassin Vinkof:**

**There is now an open bounty on: Wizard Thomas Speir (blood status unknown).**

**Height: 6"4', blue eyes, blond hair, athletic build. Dangerous combatant. Skilled at espionage. Affiliated with the Department of Investigation and Enforcement (D.I.E).**

**Last known location: India. **

**Reward: 300,000 galleons dead, 1,000,000 alive. Deposit body and collect reward via floo address: Tutum Domum.**

After grumbling at the egregious use of colons, Zinkof sat down to think. The connection to D.I.E was bad news any way you looked at it. As an American Magical law agency created in the 1920's, D.I.E (with it's rather ridiculous acronym) was thought to be a short lasting government gimmick, but with the help of heavy recruitment and a brutal training program, quickly gained a feared reputation among criminals, partly because it's agents had no qualms and full authority in casting a litany of dark spells to ensure their own brand of justice. Anyone with connections to it would be no pushover.

However, after permanently retiring a potbellied mafia grunt in a small Peruvian town last week, the Russian assassin liked the idea of a challenge. And the bounty could set him up for life.

Six weeks later, on Christmas Eve, Kyle found him. He had burrowed through a myriad of false leads, red herrings, and misinformation to find a rookie teacher at Hogwarts named Archer Latham. He had killed three other assassins during the hunt. If he hadn't been constantly stymied in his attempts to find the man, which ensured that most bounty hunters would never connect the dots, he would have thought he was an idiot. Living such an exposed life with a price on your head? In the end, it appeared that his target had gone to great lengths to hide the persona Thomas Spier, but couldn't bear to go into hiding. A weakness that would likely prove to be fatal.

So now he stood outside the target's house in Hogsmeade, and studied the rather puzzling set of wards surrounding the property. Only so many wards could be set around a place before they started to lose effectiveness. It was plain Arithmancy. The exception was places like Hogwarts, where the staggering amount of ambient magic present allowed for an intensely complex array. So most Rune-masters would set no more than seven wards around a small house like Latham's, and make them with the purpose of keeping people out. However, Latham's wards were all solely intent-based. This meant they posed no physical or magical obstruction to anyone actually walking in, but would warn Latham of why and when somebody was in his house. The wards' similar nature and the skill in which they were constructed made them far beyond Zinkof's skill to tear down or bypass, meaning he would naturally lose the element of surprise. A better option might be to attack him on the street, but that involved too many extra variables.

This gave Kyle an uneasy feeling. As an assassin, he prided himself on getting in, killing or capturing the target, and getting out before anyone even knew they were dead or taken. It seemed like he would have to face this man in all out duel, which was probably Latham's intention. His target was nothing if not confident. However, Kyle thought as he holstered a SIG Sauer P220, wizards never knew how to react to guns, and sheer confidence could not stop bullets.

OoOoO

Archer attempted to whistle, failing badly as he tidied his office with a flick of his wand, then set off for his new home: the renovated Shrieking Shack. Hogsmeade residents had been highly curious and slightly suspicious of him when he moved in, but all agreed it had been years since any frightening noises had been heard from it. With a couple of house visits where he gave away pies, he was readily accepted into the community, and was actually approached fairly often, as many residents wanted a teacher's opinion on how their children were doing.

For his part, Archer was very proud of Harry, as he was excelling academically, and had created several friendships that bridged the natural divide that the Houses created. Archer had seen Draco Malfoy, curiously enough, start to hang out with Harry more. That would be worth finding out about.

There had been no assassination or kidnapping attempts since the first one, which Archer felt was largely due to his work in laying down an impressive amount of false leads. In all, it looked to be a wonderful Christmas, complete, Archer observed as he walked down the Hogsmeade path, with the light' fluffy snow most often seen in post-cards.

"Merry Christmas!" Ambrosius Flume, owner of Honeydukes Sweet shop, called merrily out to him. A Hogsmeade Weekend had taken place a few days ago, and the confectioner had nearly sold all his goods.

"Likewise, Mr. Flume!" Archer replied, and turned off of main street to his house, which he entered, hanging up his coat by the door. Just as he set water to boil, the wards alerted him of an intruder with deadly intentions. He sighed. It appeared his luck had run out. With a twist of his wand, he apparated up-stairs, where he slipped on a dragon-hide battle suit and grabbed other weapons. After a further failed attempt at apparition, he realized that other wards had already been set up. Now there was no magical means of escape, but that wasn't Archer's plan. Anyone good enough to find him now would need to be dealt with.

A shadow flitted at the stairwell, but Archer guessed that it was an illusion. However, he was proved wrong when a spell smashed into the banister.

With one eye on the stairs, Archer eased a window open, climbed out, and jumped, rolling to avoid injury. A shot rang out, shattering the ground floor window, and grazing a furrow down his back. Archer got behind cover, shocked. It wasn't that he had completely disregarded the idea of the assassin using a gun, but Wizards or Squibs toting firearms were extremely scarce. No Muggle could have got close to Hogsmeade.

Archer also noted that the assassin was very skilled. He would have had to have excellent peripheral vision and lightning reflexes to be able to see and then hit him if he was near the stairs. Drawing his own pistol with his right hand, Archer opened the front door with a wave of his left hand, which held his wand. It would turn into a firefight now, unless… Archer smacked his head, annoyed at himself. The assassin probably didn't know or expect him to have a gun!

The functional range of most offensive spells is thirty feet, or slightly further if deliberately overpowered. Most pistols are accurate at three times that distance. Using guns against wizards, a viable option was to simply stand outside their wand range and just shoot them down, if their apparition ability was taken away. All he needed was to lure this assassin into a sense of complacency. A difficult thing, as the most in the profession were notoriously paranoid, and those who weren't died quickly. Archer moved swiftly. He had one shot, and needed to make it count.

OoOoO

Vinkof growled in frustration as he cast a shield to halt the oncoming bone-breaking curse, then paused to examine the several minor wounds he had received. While the bounty note had described Latham as a 'dangerous combatant' with an 'athletic build', the assassin felt those descriptions were a sad understatement. Vinkof had nearly been nailed a couple times by his lightning quick prey. Now his magical reserves were running low, though it was apparent his opponent was having the same problem, despite what fully charged must have been a very powerful magical core. While Vinkof had mainly relied on his pistol, Latham had been forced to keep up a barrage of spells the entire time.

Their fight had been ongoing through the house for nearly an hour, and the walls were riddled and warped with bullet holes and spell residue. Another spell came towards him, but actually fizzled out before it reached him. Surely Latham could cast no more. Vinkof now had the "teacher" holed up in the basement, and was slightly sorry that he would either have to kill Latham or present him alive to those who had posted the bounty. The end result would be the same; the death of one of the best magical duelists he had ever come across.

Vinkof frowned. The past couple minutes, there had been no spell or other indication that his prey was there. A quickly cast _Homenum revelio_ showed he was not in the basement, but below it, and moving rapidly away. Cursing, Kyle burst into the basement, and dispelled a weak notice-me-not, which revealed a bloody hand-print on the trap door. Evidence that his opponent was hurt, and his magical core was nearly finished. Jumping through it, pain and shock registered as a pair of bullets hit him, and all went black.

OoOoO

Professor Quirinus Quirrell held his forehead in agony as his master expressed his displeasure. During the Halloween feast when he had let the troll in, Quirrell found Snape guarding the third floor corridor. Not sure of the dour potion master's true loyalties, he had left, stuttering excuses. On a different night when he was supposed to be patrolling the hallways for students out of bed, he swiftly made his way to the forbidden corridor, and carelessly waved his wand at the door, saying "Alohomora!" Quirrell was completely caught off guard when a trio of stunning spells came from the door and slammed into him.

His master's sheer rage revived him, as he gasped in pain. He began casting increasingly complex charms at the door, and dodging increasingly nasty spells as the door refused to open. Finally the counter for an archaic Incan sealing spell worked, and when the door opened Quirrell was greeted by the three growling, toothy heads of the Cerberus. The teacher ran in fright.

Now he listened to his master's ranting, and wondered how to get past the legendary guardian animal.

"Use Hagrid." Voldemort hissed.

"W-What?" Quirrell snapped to attention at the calmer, scheming tone of the wraith's voice.

"That oafish half-giant. If anyone knows how to get around the Cerberus it's him. He falls in love with every dangerous beast he comes across. After he's had a few dozen Fire-whiskeys in him, he'll tell you everything you need to know." Voldemort cackled, and Quirrell flinched, before mumbling excitedly.

"A dr-dragon's egg- ah egg would also help, I co-"

"FOOL!" Voldemort shrieked. "Where would you get one? I want this done speedily. Strong liquor, and perhaps some choice potions, will suffice."

"Y-Y-Yes Master." Quirrell replied.

OoOoO

"Harry! Wake up!" Harry grumbled as he felt something soft hit his face. Reluctantly he sat up, then opened his bleary eyes to to see Seamus McFinnigan grinning at him, pillow upraised, should he decide that Harry need another whack. Harry looked around the Gryffindor dorm room and realized it was just him and Seamus. All the other first year boys had gone to their homes for Christmas.

"Merry Christmas, mate!" Seamus grinned, then paused, "... Or Happy Hanukkah, or Samhain, whichever your preference." Finnigan finished, flustered.

"Oh. Thanks, Seamus!" Harry smiled back. Christmas. It wasn't that he'd forgotten about it; indeed he'd made sure to get all his friends presents. However, he was certain that his usual December festivities had been nowhere near the same experience of his friends.

Years ago, Archer had professed to not practice Christmas, and went on a little rant about how muggles managed to turn a perfectly nice religious holiday formed from a story of generosity and sacrifice into a consumerist frenzy centered around spending money for gifts all for the purpose of social status.

Harry had asked what that meant, so for their first Christmas Archer took him to a shopping mall on Christmas Eve. Needless to say, they barely escaped alive. That first Christmas, he was rather disappointed at the thought of not receiving any gifts, and then woke up on the twenty-fifth and found a bag of sweets and a couple wrapped boxes on his bed. Archer later confessed to be something of a hypocrite, at least when the excuse to spoil Harry was presented.

The next December Archer had shown him the Druidic Rite of Five Rivers and Half a Branch, which many wizards attended, and the next year he attended mass and learnt of the birth of the Christian Messiah. A year later they got some gillyweed and observed the Mermen Festival of Many Fish, and so on. Harry had become amazed at how many things that time of year meant to different religions and cultures, both magical and muggle. He was pretty sure there was some object lesson Archer wanted him to learn from that, but all he knew for sure was that each subsequent "Christmas" was exciting and different. Harry was rather sad they couldn't carry on the tradition this year.

WHACK! Harry was brought back to the present by a rather more violent pillow attack from Seamus. Standing up, he saw a rather large pile of presents at the foot of his bed. Harry grinned. Crossing the social divide between Hogwarts Houses, he had made a lot of friends, and that apparently translated to a lot of gifts. With a yell, he leapt at the pile while Seamus dropped his abused pillow and turned to his own presents.

OoOoO

Harry walked down to the Great Hall, appreciating the hard work the professors had done to decorate. He noticed in the Great Hall that the four House tables were gone, and the staff table was big enough to seat all the students and teachers who had decided to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. Breakfast had already started, and he meandered to an empty seat between professor Flitwick and Claire Joseph, a 'Puff fourth year. Just as he was about to dig in, something was nagging at him. Looking around, he saw an empty seat to Snape, and wondered worriedly, '_Where is Archer?'_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Dec 24th, 2 p.m. 1991

Remus Lupin had done it! Absentmindedly paying the cab driver his fare, he turned to look at Privet Drive, of Little Whinging, Surrey. He was confident he had bypassed every last protection. This was where Harry lived, where he had grown up! It shouldn't have taken him this long to find, but there had been setbacks at every turn.

The Halloween night when Voldemort was vanquished had been the worst of his life, surpassing even the evening during which the werewolf Fenrir Greyback bit him, changing him to a monster in the eyes of the wizard world. But that Halloween night was worse. James and Lily Potter dead, Sirius Black revealed to be a traitor, killing Peter Pettigrew before being imprisoned. Reeling from shock and the loss of his four best friends while every other wizard celebrated, Lupin retreated to a werewolf camp, determined to wallow in misery.

He was successful for all of four hours before Lianne found him. Lianne was a wereling, meaning she was actually born of a pair of werewolf mates, rather than becoming one by being bitten, like Remus. She was also his closest friend among Fenrir Greyback's pack.

==Flashback==

Remus shifted and moaned as a ray of sunlight hit his face, and blurrily saw somebody's silhouette.

"Go away." He said in a deep growl, an order most werewolves would obey. While he'd never openly challenged Greyback for the position of Alpha male, he was well known for vehemently arguing with Fenrir, loudly opposing Greyback's idea of helping Voldemort. With the death of the Dark Lord, Remus's position in the pack, politically wise, had only strengthened. In addition, he was one of the few werewolves who had learned wand magic, and the only one skilled with it. That meant he was clearly the most dangerous of all the pack when not in werewolf form, which just happened to be twenty-nine out of every thirty days.

"Is this how you honor their sacrifice, their friendship?" An icy cold voice said accusingly, ripping away more branches from the dark leafy copse he had curled up in. Now he could see who was addressing him, and connected the voice to the light red hair, piercing eyes, and slightly scarred face. Lianne.

She continued "By retreating in selfish depression, content to become something less than yourself?" He had appreciated her 'tough love' attitude in times past, but most certainly did not now.

"You have no idea what I'm going through!" He snarled, painful memories surfacing at the words 'friendship' and 'sacrifice'.

Lianne ignored his deflection. "You told me once how you swore an Oath to the Potters, of your own volition, that you would protect their son whenever they could not. That you would take care of Harry."

"Harry." Remus whispered, straightening up. Then his shoulders slumped. "It's no use," he said dully. "I heard he's at Hogwarts now, being checked up by Madam Pomfrey. By law he'll go to his closest family, Petunia Evans, Lily's sister."

Lianne raised her eyebrows. "I thought you mentioned that they weren't very close. That Petunia was jealous of her sister's magic and success."

Remus sighed and nodded. "As far as I know that hasn't changed. I haven't seen her in a couple years. James said she married a man who looked like a walrus, and was the second most boring individual he'd ever met, losing to Professor Binns because of sporadic fits where his face turned purple."

"And you're going to let that couple raise Harry?"

"You're right. Goodbye." Remus jumped to his feet, hugged Lianne, and disappeared with a twist of his wand.

OoOoO

"Remus, it's good to see you." Albus Dumbledore acknowledged his friend and former student as he gazed into the velvet night from the Hogwarts ramparts.

"Albus," Remus began determinedly.

Dumbledore turned, and the words died in Lupin's mouth. There was no twinkle in the eyes behind the Headmaster's half-moon glasses. There was a great sadness writ on his face, and he looked decades older.

"I'm so sorry." Albus whispered.

At the soft words Remus wanted nothing more than to curl up again, but he couldn't let himself, though his next words were halting and uneven. "I didn't know. How - how could you have known, that Si - that bastard would betray us?"

"He is still in the ministry holding cells. I could arrange for you to talk to him. Perhaps you need some closure."

"No! I can't -" Remus's chest tightened at the very thought. He paused. "I need to know. How is Harry?"

"Remarkably healthy," Dumbledore said with a sad smile. "He has a magical scar on his forehead, in the shape of a lightning bolt."

"Destruction." Murmured Lupin, recalling his rune classes.

"Or Power." Albus reminded him, then continued. "There is some very dark magic inherit with the scar, but Pomfrey and a Legilimency expert I brought in both say it is self-contained, and will not harm Harry. Pomfrey also found that a fairly significant part of his magical core was bound."

Remus nodded. "Lily had that done a few weeks back. Harry was doing accidental magic well beyond most babies. She did it so he wouldn't accidentally hurt himself."

Dumbledore accepted the explanation, then finished his description of Harry's health. "Pomfrey changed the binding so that it would gradually weaken, and finally disappear on his eighth birthday, so as not to harm him while staying with his relatives."

"Dumbledore, please." Remus pleaded. "Could he not stay with me?"

"I'm sorry, Remus." The older man sighed. "The Wizengamot would never allow it."

"Then someone else!" Remus pressed. "The Bones's, the Lovegoods, McGonagall!" He refrained from mentioning the Longbottoms. He had known Frank and Alice well, and could only wonder how Augusta was dealing with raising her baby grandson on her own.

Dumbledore sighed again, and this time there was some irritation present in his face. "The Wizengamot has been stonewalling me. I was witness to James and Lily's only Will, but they say since it is locked in the Potter family vault, they cannot reach it, and so Harry must live with his next-of-kin. The Goblins are also being remarkably unhelpful."

"That's… that is idiotic!" Remus burst out. "Surely there's precedent for similar situations happening in the past?"

"I'm sure there are." Albus agreed. "However, I don't think you realize how popular and politically potent young Harry is right now. To the Magical Lords of Britain, I believe shuttling him off to his Muggle family is preferable to most rather than letting one family gain that kind of pull."

Remus slumped down onto the cold stone of the ramparts. "This is insane." He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Not all bad has come from this, my friend." Dumbledore stepped forward and rested a hand on Remus's shoulder. "I created a powerful blood ward over his relatives. Harry will be safe, and hopefully grow up well away from his 'savior' status, and pressures no child should have to face"

== Flashback End ==

Remus smiled a bit as he walked unhindered up Privet Drive, though inwardly he was leaping for joy. He had been unsuccessful for all of two and a half years as he tried to unravel the various protections around the place, some clearly the style of Albus Dumbledore, and others done by someone else. In any case, they must have sunk ward stones the size of Stonehenge blocks into the ground to gain the necessary power to keep it all running for so long. Ten years after the fact, gaining access to Privet Drive was now not a matter of getting custody of Harry: he simply wanted to see how Harry's relatives had treated him.

Walking up the driveway, he turned to the front door and, making sure his robes and face were still transfigured and glamoured, respectively, he pressed the doorbell.

"Yes?" Petunia Dursley appeared in the doorway. And while the clothes she wore were fashionable, it appeared the years since he had last seen her had not been kind, because she now looked rather more… equine.

"What do you want?" She pressed, looking at the stranger in a nice bespoke suit, and a unblemished, almost regal, face.

"Forgive me. I am Daniel Summers, Second-Vice-Deputy Head of Administration for Grunnings Drill Corporation." Remus lied smoothly with a small bow. "I was told this is the Dursley residence?"

"Of course. I'm Petunia Dursley. Call me Petunia. Oh! Do come in!" Petunia babbled as she shook the cultured man's hand then led him in nervously, wondering what such an important man in the company her husband worked for was doing here. Nonetheless, she led him into the living room, and if she'd paid close attention, she would have noticed his eyes and nose working overtime, trying to soak up every smell and detail he could. So far, he'd seen plenty of pictures of Petunia and an overweight man and boy, who must have been her husband and son, but none included Harry. However, he'd caught some of Harry's scent coming from the padlocked cupboard, curiously enough.

"Please sit down. Would you like some tea?" Petunia offered in a simpering tone.

"English Breakfast please, if you have it." Remus accepted, then put a slight compulsion on her to watch the tea boil and steep for five minutes. Once she had left for the kitchen, he rushed to the cupboard, opened the padlock with a swish of his wand, and looked inside. He froze when he saw the letters 'harys room' scrawled into the soft wood of the inside cupboard door. As his anger began building, he noted a bed, a chamber pot, some little odds and ends, other intricacies that suggested a child might have spent a great deal of time there. Before he was tempted to go and hex Petunia, however, he took a good sniff, and stopped in confusion. Harry Potter had been indeed been here, but his scent did not permeate the cupboard like he would have expected.

Unsure what to think now, he swiftly closed and locked the cupboard, then rushed to his seat in the living room, being seated just before Petunia entered with a tea tray.

"Sorry for the wait, Mr. Summers" she said, pouring him a cup, "I find the flavor is much nicer if you don't rush steeping it."

"I quite agree." Remus said, adding some milk to the beverage. "Now Petunia, your husband is one of many who holds a high position in Grunnings. Due to a stipulation in a stock board meeting recently, the company is required to visit the homes of its higher level executives, to determine whether their living conditions meet their job stations."

"So you're saying I need to give you a tour of the house?" Petunia asked, a little confused.

"If you would be so kind."

Throughout the tour, Petunia made no mention of Harry. The room where his scent was strongest, she called the guest room. As Remus departed, making vague allusions about Vernon getting a promotion soon, he was thoroughly baffled. Harry had perhaps visited Number 4 Privet Drive, but he had not lived there. But then what was the cupboard? Some sick prop to make it look like Harry had been abused?

Remus apparated quickly to his room in the Leaky Cauldron. He would have to step up his plans, and send Harry an owl soon. He needed to know what was going on.

OoOoO

December 24th, 10 p.m. 1991

Archer continued walking, albeit at a painfully slow pace, along the uneven floor of the secret passage leading to his home. He would have gone faster, but he couldn't. As soon as he had shot the assassin, who was now slumped unmoving under the trapdoor, all the adrenaline he had been running on gave out, and and he realized he had been hit himself.

Near the end of their battle, he had been running towards the basement, with a hallway wall between him and the assassin. The bounty hunter fired three shots blindly through the wall, and one hit, going straight through his magically reinforced leather armor and tearing a hole in his belly. In the heat of the moment he barely felt it. Now, he was discovering that it was quite painful, with no way to fix it. His magical core was spent, so he couldn't heal himself, and had to keep both hands placed firmly on his stomach in an attempt to keep his guts where they belonged.

Finally he made it to the end of the passage, and collapsed next to his would-be killer. The assassin was not dead: a pair of holes in his right shoulder were bleeding slowly. He was merely stunned.

Several years back, Nicholas Flamel had given him a pistol, very specifically enchanted. The runes etched on it charmed a powerful stunning spell on each bullet. He knew Archer wasn't fond of killing people, and the gun let him deal with enemies in a less lethal way, provided the bullets themselves hit non-vital areas.

Uncomfortably shrugging off his ruined jacket, Archer grabbed the knife strapped to his left leg and sliced his shirt off. Breathing deeply, Archer looked down and tried to find the bullet amongst the bloody mess that had once been his stomach. There! It had not gone very deep. The wall and his armor must have slowed it a great deal. Still, removal would likely take a pair of medical pincers or magic, neither which were currently at his disposal. Archer paused as a wave of dizziness hit him. He knew he had lost a sizable amount of blood. Grabbing the remnants of his shirt, he tore it into wide strips, and tied it tightly around his torso, stopping the blood flow.

Reaching down to his other leg, around which a belt of small vials were secured, he grabbed one, which contained a blood-replenishing potion. Archer quickly wrestled off its stopper and downed the contents.

With a sigh, he leaned back again, as healthy as he could be under the circumstances. He was fairly confident he could survive for another four or five hours, ample time to regain enough magic to heal himself. The assassin would be knocked out for at least that period.

Fifteen minutes later, his confidence waned as his wards informed him of another person entering the house. The wards were unspecific in regards to what the intent of the person was, probably due to interference from the wards the assassin had set up.

Scrabbling at his hip holster for his gun, he realized he'd dropped it further back in the tunnel. Twisting around painfully, he grabbed the gun out of the assassins' stiff hand, relieved to find it was fully loaded. Archer steadied his nerves as a Homenum revelio washed over him. The new person knew exactly where he was now.

Archer trained the pistol on the trap door above him, ignoring the sweat trickling down his face. If the newcomer was an assassin, he was pretty much done for. Taking stock of situation, Archer was dead tired, with zero mobility, and only the eight bullets in the gun's magazine, as he couldn't see any spare clips on the fallen assassin. Another homenum revelio hit him. The new assassin was likely now in the basement. With a bang, the trap door opened. Nothing.

"Thomas?" A voice hissed. American accent, female, Archer noted drowsily, then shook himself, angry at his body for trying to betray him.

"Identify yourself. If you try to enter through the trapdoor I will shoot" He shouted roughly.

"Samantha Heath, codename Uncle Sam." The reply came. How did she find him, Archer wondered. If it was really her…

"What was the final thing you said at the party we held when you were promoted?" He asked, grinning.

There was a pause, then he heard her say indignantly, "You can shoot me if you like, but i'm NOT repeating that!"

Archer relaxed, chuckling. "Come on down and help me out here. Just as long as you haven't suddenly become hemophobic."

"As if." Samantha muttered, leaping down next to him, managing to stumble over the assassin. Standing a shade under six feet tall, she had warm eyes framed by silky black hair, and chocolate brown skin.

"Smooth landing." He said, giving her a pained smile.

"Jerk." She replied swiftly, then asked, "So who's Mr. Tall, dark, and unconscious?"

Archer shook his head. "I wish I knew. It was terribly rude how he dropped by without any invitation, and now you do the same. Doesn't anybody have manners?"

"No, sadly." Samantha got on her knees and ripped the impromptu bandages off him.

"Miss Heath, how forward of you!" Archer gasped in mock astonishment.

"Shut up, Thomas." She said tensely as she conjured a pair of pincers, and a stick, which she shoved in his mouth, then turned to his stomach. "Besides, don't they say what's inside a man is most important?"

"I think that's actually referring to - GNNNGH!" Archer bit down on the stick as Samantha yanked the bullet out.

"Do you not know any numbing charms?" He ground out, wincing as she performed a couple healing spells.

"You yourself told me that pain is a vital indication of whether or not the body is functioning well." Samantha smirked.

"Oh yes, throw the words of the mortally injured man back in his own face. Wherever did you acquire your bedside manner, Miss Heath?" Archer said between ragged breaths.

"That wasn't bedside manner, that was payback. You gave me that whole speech after putting me through the hardest training session of my life!"

"It worked, didn't it?" Archer asked as he watched a blue light leave her wand, and felt the stomach wound close. "Wow, that feels weird. Here you are, bona fide Generalissimo of the Design Interface Engineers!"

"I wish you'd stop calling it that." Samantha grumbled as she helped Archer to his feet, then turned and healed the unconscious assassin, before tying him up.

"Why? It's not a stretch to believe that the only reason the creation of the Division passed the voting stage was because some bigwig politician would only vote for it if they gave it a funny acronym." Archer sighed. "Some days I think I prefer the blatant corruption and incompetence in the British Magical government to the outright tomfoolery on display at times in its American counterpart."

"The United Races of America has been one of the most successful-" Samantha began before cutting herself off. "It doesn't really matter anymore. I quit the Division." She said, in a slightly nervous tone.

"What? Why?" Archer turned to her in genuine shock. Before he left, it seemed like she was in her element.

"When I enlisted out of Salem, it was everything i could have imagined. Crime and dark wizards were rampant, and there was that whole fiasco with the Tátł'idgo dootł'izh-"

"-Oh, yes, that political group protesting Wizarding Radios as detrimental to society." Archer interrupted, grinning. "I'm impressed you could pronounce that. Apparently, the only way they could turn people to their cause was necromancy, because they raised a small army of inferi. I was brought in to help on that one."

Samantha ignored his interruption "-And it felt like I was making a difference, then you brought down the Shadowgrave Unicorn trafficking syndicate, and we swooped in afterwards, arresting some very powerful people, and I knew I had made a difference. Over the the past ten years, crime has fallen to all time lows in the states, and our biggest problem during that time has been some Amortentia dealers. Though that was expected, when the government made love potions illegal."

"That's great!" Archer said, pleased. He hadn't had much news of the States after he left, and was glad to know his work previous to his self-imposed exile had done a great deal of good. "So why did you quit?"

"It's been so boring!" His friend yelled out, but as she saw Archer's smile grow, Samantha hastily amended her statement. "And when I learned there was a price on your head, I 'retired' and came to see if I could help."

"No need justify yourself, Sam." Archer said with a smirk. "I get it now. You're an adrenaline junky." Then he frowned, asking, "How did you find me anyway?"

"I put a tracking charm on you." It was Sam's turn to be smug.

"That's impossible." He said flatly. "I check for them daily."

"Nope, I put one on your mylohyoid muscle."

"My what?"

"It's a muscle right about here." She said, tapping the muscle underneath her chin. "A couple of years back, I noticed when scanning for charms, you naturally look down at the rest of your body as you scan with your wand from your feet upwards. When you get to your head, you scan the front of your chin, leaving the underside protected. It took me a couple days to get so specific with tracking charms, but then I slipped it in during one of our duels, and it's been telling me your location ever since." Samantha watched as he located the charm and got rid of it. "Sam 1, Thomas 0!" She added cheekily

Archer grumbled incoherently as he slung the assassin over his shoulder, and climbed up through the trapdoor.

"So, what are you doing in Britain?" He heard Samantha ask.

"Truthfully? I sort of kidnapped Harry Potter."

"..."

"What?"

OoOoO

**A/N: And there's chapter 12! Not as action heavy as the previous one. I introduced Remus and a O/C. Tell me how you like them! **


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